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sunni-stuff · 2 months ago

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You, the butchers daughter, end up stalking your father's new hire.

The first time you see him, he’s hauling a side of beef off the truck like it weighs nothing, muscles taut beneath his apron. His broad shoulders stretch the fabric, veins running thick down his forearms as he grips the meat hook. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, revealing strong arms marred with faded scars—some thin and clean, others jagged, stories you’ll never hear. His hands, wrapped in black gloves, are steady as he works, but you wonder what they’d feel like bare.

Then there’s the mask. Black, snug, covering everything from the bridge of his nose down, leaving only his sharp, calculating eyes visible. Dark and unreadable, they barely glance your way. You’ve tried to catch him slipping, maybe when he wipes sweat from his forehead or adjusts the apron strings that crisscross his powerful back, but he’s careful—never lets you see too much.

The tattoos peek out beneath his sleeves and creep along his collarbones where his shirt dips. Flames coil around his wrists, swallowing skulls with hollow eyes. A soldier, masked like him, grips a rifle among the chaos. A bomb mid-fall, grinning shark teeth, dog tags suspended in ink—each piece a fragment of something unspoken. You’ve glimpsed ink curling over the tendons of his neck, bold lines, and intricate designs that hint at a past you aren’t meant to know. It’s all war, death, and destruction, an unspoken story carved into his flesh. When he moves, the shadows shift over the ink, making it seem alive. You want to ask, to pry, but he’s as unreadable as the art on his skin

He doesn’t talk much, just nods when your father gives orders. The others joke around, laugh, make noise—but he’s silent, methodical, unsettling in the way he moves like he’s done this before. Like butchering meat is nothing new to him.

But what frustrates you the most? He never looks at you for more than a second. Never lingers, never smirks, never acknowledges the way you watch him. As if you’re invisible. And that, more than anything, makes you want to figure him out.

At first, it was just curiosity. No man had ever outright ignored you before—not when you batted your lashes, not when you "accidentally" brushed too close, not when you lingered just a little too long in his space.

But him? He barely acknowledged you. A nod if you were lucky. A grunt if you spoke directly to him. Most of the time, he just kept working, muscles flexing under his apron, strong hands wielding a cleaver with practiced ease.

The others—your father’s old hands, the regulars who came in for their weekly cuts—would’ve tripped over their feet to get your attention. They always had. You were used to the lingering stares, the awkward compliments, the way men fumbled through conversations just to keep you talking. So why didn't he?

It was maddening.

So, you did what any sane young woman would do.

You prodded. You poked. You tested.

You stood too close, pretending to inspect the marbled meat he was slicing, only for him to shift away without a word. You asked him pointless questions, just to hear his voice—low, rough, with an accent you couldn’t quite place—only for him to answer in as few words as possible before returning to work.

It became a game. You knocked things over in his path just to see if he’d catch them (he always did). You “forgot” something near his station just to have a reason to come back. You even tried teasing, playfully calling him mystery man under your breath.

Nothing.

Not a flinch, not a smirk, not even a flicker of amusement.

That should have been the end of it.

But then you started watching. Not just at work—no, you started watching him.

The way he left every night at the same time. The way he took the same route, never straying, never rushing. The way his head tilted slightly whenever he passed certain corners, as if he was listening.

It fascinated you. And when fascination turns to obsession, well…

That’s when you started following him.

You followed him—never too far, never too close—always careful, watching him move through the streets with an air of confidence that seemed to thrive in the quiet of the night. For weeks, this had become a routine, one that started innocently enough. Just a few blocks at first, just enough to ensure that he was who you thought he was. But over time, the habit deepened. Each night, you followed him further, until it became something you couldn’t help but do.

Yet, despite your best efforts, he never made any stops, never took any detours. He just kept walking, heading toward some destination that only he knew. And every time you reached the point where you would turn around, you still didn’t have any answers—no clue what he was up to or where he was going. Just that he moved through the night like someone who belonged there. Unfazed, untouchable.

Then one night, the weather turned.

The rain hit hard, cold droplets splattering against your skin, soaking through your jacket in seconds. You’d stopped for a split second—just long enough to get the damn zipper up, to pull the hood over your head—but in that moment, he'd vanished.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you cursed under your breath, glancing quickly down the wet street, searching for the familiar outline of his tall frame. But there was nothing. No sign of him.

“What the hell?” you muttered to yourself, your voice drowned out by the downpour. You couldn’t let him slip away. Not now, not after all this time.

You started to jog, your boots splashing in the puddles as your eyes darted left and right, scanning the alleyways and storefronts. Your breath came faster as you pushed yourself harder, frustration building. You weren’t going to lose him now.

Then, suddenly, your body was jerked backward, your breath caught in your throat as a strong hand pressed over your mouth. The air around you was thick with the scent of rain-soaked pavement and something darker, something more familiar.

Before you could even react, you were shoved hard against the cold brick of an alleyway wall, your back colliding with the rough surface, your head snapping back slightly from the impact. Your pulse spiked in your ears as panic started to claw at your chest, but the firm grip on your mouth held you silent, still.

For a second, everything went still. The rain beat against your jacket, heavy and relentless, but there was no sound, no movement—just the suffocating pressure of his hand over your mouth and the close proximity of his body.

You felt the heat radiating off him, the sheer strength of his presence as if the space between you was no longer your own. The tension in his arm, holding you against the wall, was undeniable. He was in control.

Your heart raced, but it wasn’t from fear. It was from the frustration, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the urge to finally break the silence between you. You had followed him, hunted him, and now here he was—this close. The tension was suffocating, and you couldn’t decide if you were going to scream or say something sharp.

But before you could gather your thoughts, his voice broke through the storm. Low, smooth, with an edge of something dark. “Thought you’d lost me, didn’t you?” His words came muffled through the mask, but the tone was unmistakable.

He didn’t seem in a rush, like he knew you were trapped in the moment. You didn’t even know how long he’d been standing there, or how he’d managed to close the distance between you so quickly. The rain drummed relentlessly on the alley’s pavement, but his eyes, those sharp, dark eyes, never wavered from you.

“Can’t say I’m impressed by your little game,” he murmured, fingers brushing against your cheek in a movement so deliberate it made your breath catch. “You follow me for weeks, but never thought of what might happen when you get too close.”

“Were you hoping to catch me doing something interesting?" he asked, his breath a warm tickle on your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. There was a calmness in his voice, like he was in complete command, and the way his body molded against yours told you he was used to people being in positions like this.

“I…” You swallowed, struggling to free your voice. “I wanted to see if you’d… notice me.” You hadn’t thought this far ahead. Why had you been following him? What had you hoped to find? You were just a silly girl who wanted the attention of a man who wanted nothing to do with you.

Simon’s laugh was low, almost quiet, but it carried a weight to it that you didn’t expect. It was rich with amusement, deep and rough, and it rumbled against the tension hanging between you both. The sudden sound caught you off guard, your breath catching in your throat as you tried to make sense of it.

For a moment, you were frozen, not sure whether to be annoyed or confused. Had you just made a fool of yourself in front of him? Why was he laughing?

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your nerves, but it didn’t work. His laughter still echoed in your head, and your voice came out shaky. "W-what’s so funny?"

He didn’t immediately answer. Instead, you could feel him shift slightly, his hand easing off your wrist but still close enough to make you aware of the power he held. Simon took a breath, the rain still pouring around you both, but his presence was like a shield, solid and immovable.

"You," he finally said, his voice quieter now, but the amusement was still there, like a shadow in his tone. "You think I didn’t notice you? You’ve been practically waving a flag." His fingers brushed lightly over your wrist, tracing the spot where he’d gripped you, his touch soft now, almost teasing.

"I wasn’t… I wasn’t obvious," you managed to protest, though it came out weaker than you’d like. You could feel your cheeks heating, your frustration mixing with something else you weren’t ready to admit.

"All this time, and you still think I didn’t know?" He shook his head, though you couldn't see his face behind that damn mask. “Sweetheart, you’ve been following me around like a lost puppy, and I was just waiting to see when you'd finally stop pretending.”

For a moment, you stood there, silence pressing in between you both, broken only by the sound of the rain pelting the alley around you. Simon’s words lingered, his laugh still echoing in your mind. You weren’t sure if you were frustrated or flustered or both, but you knew one thing for sure—he had misunderstood what you asked.

Finally, you spoke, your voice clear despite the uncertainty brewing inside you. “That’s not what I meant,” you muttered, taking a step back, shaking your head. You weren’t sure why, but you needed to ask, needed to get to the bottom of it. “Do you have a girlfriend?” you asked bluntly, your eyes never leaving his face.

Simon’s expression didn’t change much, his gaze still sharp but unbothered. “No,” he replied simply.

That answer made something inside you tighten, though you couldn’t quite pinpoint why. But you weren’t done. You shifted your weight, suddenly daring to ask the next question, the one you knew would make him uncomfortable. “Do you find me attractive?”

His eyes flickered for a split second, the usual guarded look breaking, but he nodded, his voice low. “Yes.”

The answer hung in the air like a challenge. Your heart was racing, your mind spinning, trying to connect the dots between what he said and what he did. “So why,” you demanded, “don’t you ever look at me? In the shop, I mean. Why don’t you notice me like the other guys do? They stare, flirt, and… well, pay attention.”

For the first time since you’d started this strange back-and-forth, Simon looked genuinely confused. He stepped back slightly, brows furrowing as he regarded you. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “I do pay attention.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. “What do you mean?”

Simon’s gaze softened just a fraction as he tilted his head. “During lunch... I cut your deli the way you like it—slices thin enough you can stack ‘em. And when I’m working, I stay in your section. Always have.” He paused, his expression almost apologetic. “Flirting with my boss’s daughter at work isn’t exactly the best move. But…”

You stared at him, your mind trying to make sense of his words.

He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between you both, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “But work’s over now, lass. And here we are.”

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, the real meaning of his words sinking in, and suddenly, the whole night felt like it had shifted, like the game you were playing had just changed.

You opened your mouth, about to say something—anything—to break the silence, to clarify what had just happened, but before you could speak, Simon moved with startling speed.

One moment, you were standing there, staring up at him, and the next, he had lifted you effortlessly into his arms. Your breath caught in your throat as his strong hands gripped you, pulling you flush against his chest, his heat seeping into your bones despite the chill of the rain.

“Your house or mine?”

#simon ghost riley #sunni speaks #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #simon riley #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader

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willyoubemycherryy · 4 months ago

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“Isn’t it past your curfew?” (Salesman x reader)

Summary: What happens when you run into your father’s dark suited friend after dark? You get in trouble of course.

Contains: [deep breath]-> snacks and drinks because this one is LONGER, drinking, clubbing, panicking, choking, mouth spitting, everything IS consensual but it’s rough so, rough sex, spanking, kissing, pussy spanking, dacriphyllia, multiple orgasms, squirting, you suffer from ptw, that’s pvssy too wet, seriously, dom/sub dynamics, he’s still gross and fucked up, possessiveness, degradation, praise, he’s still mean :(((, manhandling, thigh riding, kinda in public for the first half, car sex, hair pulling, squirting, unprotected sex, one all expenses paid trip to poundtown, and cursing. There’s so much I probably forgot something but y’all get the gist.

A/N- enjoy the official second installment of the dad’sfriend au! ;)

Kisses for all starting with~ @dorayakissu @jae-mie @lcvsanaa @love2fangirl @jusferisnothere @dilfismz @mybahama @trentknd @reka13 @511rkive @gr-red

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ _ _

_ ➵ ✩ ◛ ° . +

The second time you and your father’s new friend meet, it’s not at all in the setting you thought it’d be.

No, awfully enough you’re mid-spin- throwing your ass in a club near the shadier part of the city, out way past your dads rules in a tight dress- cute manicured toes peeking out your heels; makeup laden eyes widening as you make eye contact with the same gorgeous man who wore you out almost 3 weeks ago. Leaving you with a card and legs that remained shaky for the next 2 days.

The morning after was a trip and you won’t even touch how you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face, smiling even as you went to pee; the stinging a pleasant reminder of the whole ordeal. And, true to your word, you indeed have been nicer to your dad. Kissing him on the cheek with a light “be back later dad, I love you”, whenever he was home and you were leaving just like you did when you were six and his happy smile was just the same. You also put a limit on the smart little quips where you could but not so much that it was obvious you had gotten a full body attitude adjustment.

You’d been so good.

Little did you know, he’d heard as much. Smirking inwardly like there was some in-joke whenever your father would be cheerier than normal sometimes on his early commute- telling him how you made breakfast, kissing him on the cheek with a sweet ‘bye daddy’ before you left for your day or how you were less snippy- instead you were pleasant. So now imagine his surprise seeing his friend’s perfectly pleasant young daughter in one of his clubs that you didn’t even know was his, in a snug dress so short that whenever you moved you were threatening to flash someone. The skimpy little thing didn’t even have a back.

He knows the exact moment you see him see you because the way your heart falls to your ass is written all over your face and it makes him grin even wider.

When he moves, his stride is perfect. Long limbs weaving seamlessly through the sea of bodies as he deliberately walks past you.

You who is internally panicking.

“Mmm he get to strokin’, ooh how I love when he chokin’ me! Bitch I’m a boss! I do what I want-!” Your friends yell the lyrics drunkenly as they move their ass against you and you wince, suddenly hyper aware of who’s watching. Even though you had been drinking, you weren’t drunk but that didn’t change the fact that you weren’t supposed to be here and now there was a witness who knew the reason why your fast ass wasn’t supposed to be here and could very well snitch to said reason.

You shout some nonsense excuse to your friends to where you’re going and they nod back before going back to partying. If they were less plastered you know they’d question you and insist on coming with so you thank your lucky stars they’re not because the last thing they needed to see was you getting slut out by a man twice your age while attempting to do damage control. Spinning on your heel you walk the same path he did but less gracefully as you try not to stumble in your heels or topple over anyone. Your heart beat is almost louder than the music as you look for the dark suited man and the further you walk the more intense it feels; flashbacks of devilish hands and a nasty mouth cloud your mind and you swallow harshly, willing away that heat with a shaky inhale before it can burn you.

Just as you turn, you’re yanked into a corner- the sound of your shriek swallowed by the music.

“Well if it isn’t daddy’s good. little. girl. Shouldn’t it be past your curfew?”

Fuck. His voice is just as deep as you remember and the name makes a shiver crawl up your spine, a familiar tingle settling in your cunt. Still, you refuse to give him the satisfaction, taunting him with your smart mouth even though he can see your (now hard) nipples poking through the colorful toss of glitter you called a dress.

“Shouldn’t you be in a bingo hall n’some retirement center near the exit of my damn business?” Fuck x2. Alcohol loosens your tongue something terrible on a good night so now the same alcohol coupled with adrenaline has you completely reckless- delayed sense of self preservation only loading at 34 percent. The looming realization of your fuck up comes in the form of a smile so wide that it creases his eyes as he begins to laugh. And laugh. And laugh until you’re giggling nervously too. It’s awkward sounding compared to the low timbre of his rich sounding one. You shuffle once and that’s as far as you go before his hand snaps around your throat; cutting off your oxygen, strong hold fastening as he gives a good squeeze, forcing you harder against the wall.

His grip is tight off the bat and just like last time you can’t keep your hand from flying up and gripping his hard forearm the same way you can’t help yourself from getting wet as blood rushes through your ears. He’s looking down at you like you’re nothing more than a thing- his little thing- as he watches you with a dark smile.

“Cute. And here I thought we fixed that smart ass mouth of yours.” He sneers in your face and you nod desperately because he really did fix it, you were just tipsy. You know for a fact that you can’t withstand another one of his attitude adjustments- especially somewhere so public- standing in uncomfortable shoes. Ignoring your pleading look completely, he slides his knee between your plush thighs, wedging it right up into your clit through your soaked panties, loosening his hold for his next trick.

“Let’s try again, okay princess?” The petname falls from his lips with the same condescension as all his other words but it doesn’t sound any less heavenly and you whine- blinking at him prettily through your lashes.

“..yes sir…”, The way you submit has his eyes fluttering shut for a second and the feeling that rolls through him is dangerous.

He truly is a sick man. He could ruin you beyond repair if he wasn’t careful.

“Why are you doing out so late in a place like this? Dressed like that too.”

“It’s the end of finals for the semester, m-me and the girls just wanted to have a little fun..” you sound so timid, like a brat caught drawing on the wall and he cooes at you.

“And the outfit?” You flush as you feel just how little you’re wearing- though the last time he saw you, you were wearing nothing at all. Even your face had been bare which was a hard contrast to now with your hair messy from dancing but lovely still, smokey eyeshadow that had flecks of glitter and pouty lips pretty and glossed. Bristling, you ask,

“What’s wrong with it?” There’s an undercurrent of more tone than he likes but he feels generous enough at the picture you paint not to make you pay for it as he smiles indulgently at you, raising a brow as he shakes his head.

“I suppose nothing besides the fact I almost missed it even when looking straight at you. Good thing it’s not any tighter or it’d be invisible.” He grinds his knee up into your pussy, catching you off guard with the sudden shockwaves of pleasure you’re subjected to at the expense of his taunting. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you for a second as you undulate your hips against his thigh in those messy circles you like so much, choked moans breaking through your every gasp.

You’re so lightheaded.

Nerves ultra sensitive from the lack of air and tequila buzz as you bite your lip, bringing your hands to your chest, pulling your bra and dress down to let your breasts spill out; pulling and tweaking the hard nubs shamelessly as you do. What was it about him that made you act this way?

You feel so good, you don’t even care to find the answer. Bathing in the heat of his stare, you rock your wet cunt back and forth over the hardness of his thigh, the fabric of his pants giving the most delicious friction against your throbbing clit. His brows furrow in arousal as he watches you fuck yourself on his leg, moaning like every bit of the slut you looked like with his hand around your throat. But you would get much louder than this- that he knew from experience.

Your attention gets bought back to the man you’re minutes away from coming on when his other hand wraps itself in your hair and pulls. It’s intense. White-hot pleasure that comes with the burning sting as you cry out, hips jerking as your legs shake at how close you are. He pulls again, moving your head farther back, exposing your neck as he licks a fat, wet stripe up the sensitive, sweat slick skin all the way to your mouth and you can’t stop moving your hips as your eyes roll back- heart racing from how much you’re feeling, soaked hole clenching around nothing. His voice clears some of the fog about to take you but his words cause the shame this time.

“Does your father know you’re here?” You pinch your lips together in embarrassment, because no- he didn’t know. You told him you’d be back before the set time but here you were almost 2 hours past. He jerks his thigh against your center harshly, cutting off your wail with a tight hand and you swear you see lights.

“Answer me, coherently. I want to hear those big girl words.” Fuck.

It’d be a lie to say you wish he wasn’t so mean. It was part of his charm, the edge that made him that more interesting and irresistible. You swallow as best you can, sniffling wetly through the water that’s already gathering in your eyes and the sight and sound make him so feral that he’s ready to take you on the floor, fucking you stupid on the glittering black marble.

“N-no..my dad doesn’t know-“, the faux shock on his face shifts into contemplation and you can not have that as you rush the words out,

“And you can’t tell him! Please! He’ll flip if he finds out..” He wasn’t a snitch but you didn’t know that, begging sweetly for him not to rat you out- even holding off your orgasm just for him and he’s filled with that same sick rush as before. You were so delectable. So sweet, so wet- your teary doe eyes too- and so pliant beneath him.

He shuts you up by bringing his face close to yours, smelling the flavor of your lip gloss while enjoying the suddenly shy look on your pretty face at him studying you so closely as he whispers,

“Open your mouth.”

Huh? He’s close enough to kiss you so is that it? Your heart threatens to give out at the thought of him kissing you. Kissing is so…intimate. So is sex but there’s something about both your eyes being closed as you lean in, trusting one to guide the other. Especially since you still hardly knew each other…

Would you like to know him?

You ignore the tear between your gut instincts and your feelings and open your mouth. The pleased hum he rewards you with makes you keen but as the hand around your windpipe tightens and your heart stops as you feel plush lips drag across your cheek…. Right before a warm wad of saliva hits the your tongue, sliding down the back of your throat. Did he just-

You swallow on instinct and only then does he kiss you on the mouth. It’s short but demanding and so, so good- your eyes fluttering shut, hips returning to their motions with more urgency than before as he absolutely devours your mouth, licking into it like he’s trying to find traces of him; pulling away with a mean suck of your bottom lip and you gasp wetly.

“Good girl.”

You bite your lip and the water that was already gathering in your eyes spills over, panting as you try not to be swept away by the consuming waves of crushing bliss but you can’t stop your fucking self from grinding your clit against his leg, humping it with pathetically watery sobs.

He knows you’re close, that familiar pained expression on your flushed face but instead of putting you out of your misery; he decides to- “Ah ah. No-“, but it’s too late and he knew that full well before he even started. He was already planning on you disobeying, that way your punishment would be that much more…satisfying.

He watches with lidded eyes as your orgasm rips through you, grabbing his wrist for stability, hips twitching out of their messy rhythm and you wail; coming so hard it hurts. The torrent of euphoria submerges you for what will go down as the longest minutes of your life and when you come down, you’re distantly grateful for his hand because you wouldn’t be able to hold your head up otherwise.

The spot beneath your pulsating cunt is wet and he leans his head back with a pleased sigh. He was going to fuck you up in the best ways. Your makeup is messier now thanks to your tears as you sniffle weakly, trying to catch your breath and he has to hold himself back from sliding your dazed self onto the ground and-

“Sorry…m’sor- I couldn’t hold it..”, you slur out as he moves his thigh, making you stand on wobbly legs; still lightheaded from your high. Mentally, he goes through all the things he can put your soft body through as he fixes your dress, pulling what little there is of it- down as he decides what to do with you.

“It’s ok. You’ll make it up to me.” He smiles at the way you nod almost dumbly, holding your hand- ready to take you with him before looking you over, eyes searching for something.

“Where’s your phone?”

You groan because the answer was embarrassing but one you were sure he’d get off on. Shifting uncomfortably, you mumble out; “it’s in the waistband…” Oh? His night just keeps getting more and more interesting. Your face warms more as his voice takes on a mocking sort of condescending.

“Waistband of what?” Your embarrassment is just as sweet as you are and he barely holds back his smirk.

“…my thong.”

It’s a good thing you’re not looking at him because the dark glint on his face would’ve sent you running for the hills. Moving closer, he takes his time running his hand down your side, making your breath hitch as he runs it smoothly into the side where your dress cuts to open back, feeling around near your hips where the soft skin gives to the pressure of fabric until he feels your phone- pulling it out.

He really needed to stop touching you so casually. It wasn’t good for your sanity. But, he doesn’t care as he squeezes your hand, making you focus up again.

“What’s your password?” You narrow your eyes but tell him anyway because you know if you don’t, he’ll make you. You wait anxiously as you watch him scroll for a bit before pressing something and typing some more before he locks it, sliding it into his suit pocket as he pulls you along with him.

“What-”

“Now your friends won’t come looking for you.” Your heart thumps, pumping heat through your veins at the many implications of his statement. He guides you down through the back corridor of the club and you notice the farther you get, the softer the music is until it’s quiet and your looking at a neon pink door before being pulled out of the building into the cool night air, walking towards a large, dark fancy car parked across from it.

He never breaks his stride as he walks you toward it, letting go of your hand to open the backseat door, turning to you with dark eyes and a grin softer than anything he’s going to do to you tonight.

“Get in.”

•

He doesn’t take you home.

Instead, you’re snatched into the open space of the back and he’s right behind you; slamming the door as he kneels behind you, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, he manhandles you chest down to the leather seat, cheek flush against the cool surface with your ass up. There’s a deep groan that shakes you to your core as he drinks in your form with greedy eyes. You looked so appetizing that he’s tempted to keep you even after he’s done with you. Smooth ass up in the air, back arched nice and pretty for him, legs open as one balances on the seat and the other on the floor giving him a clear view of your wet pussy- their swollen lips being outlined by the scrap of wet fabric barely covering them.

The backseat of his car is plenty big enough but because of his height, he still has to maneuver a bit, taking off his suit jacket he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt before winding his hand back.

Your nerves are already on high alert, panting as you hear the rustling of his clothes then nothing. The concept of relaxing your body doesn’t even fully make it to your mind when a heavy slap has fire blooming across your ass and you choke.

The initial pain is just a prelude though as you hear a low laugh and your thong is ripped clean off you before more spanks rain down on your asscheeks. Each hit is hard, making the sensitive skin tint as it recoils from the strength behind the burning hits. You end up coughing, trying to gasp but it ends in a desperate sob as the sting begins to warm and the sting of his palm leaves shockwaves of pleasure that fester in your lower body, making your cunt pulse as he watches slick ooze from your tight hole, pupils blown.

“I know exactly what to do with you.”

You hear him but you don’t get to respond, eyes fluttering back in complete bliss as you’re suddenly stuffed with 3 of his perfectly thick fingers. All three immediately curl up like they’re trying to poke your bellybutton before thrusting in and out, brushing his thumb against your clit after every nasty squelch. Each mean swipe of his fingers sends you closer to oblivion as you feel yourself start to drift. You fog up his windows with your moans, lipgloss smeared against his seat but it’s all pointless because you’re going to cum. And when you cum, it’s gonna be your ass because you can’t catch your breath enough to ask him coherently if you were allowed to.

The fingers inside you curl completely, grinding against that sweet bundle of nerves inside you and your inner thighs spasm as you wail- hiccuping loudly, you cry in pleasure when the dam breaks and oh god you’re coming.

Your eyes snap shut as you try not to pass out from all the sensations. It’s like you’ve been dunked in lava- your orgasm blazing as it consumes you. You don’t even scream anymore, just crying and whining as you shake; cunt spasming from trying to withstand the waves. You usually never cum so hard and you worry that if this becomes a daily thing it’ll shorten your lifespan.

It’s cute. Watching you struggle not to be overwhelmed by him. You don’t even hear him unzip his pants, fat cock bobbing as it beads with precum, cooing as a certain realization finally creeps up on you. That his fingers were still fucking into your tight snatch, grinding away at your g-spot.

“Since you couldn’t stop yourself from coming…”

Oh no. Nononononono-

“I don’t want you to stop coming.” The broken sob that reaches his ears has a thick shiver of arousal run through him as wretches his hand out of your hole only to smack heavy wet spanks onto your erect clit.

Your heart stops and a few seconds later you can’t hear or see either as you cum for the third time that night, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as you squirt all over him and his luxury car, drool spilling into the space under your cheek. It’s almost miserable as your arch deepens, body trembling until consciousness returns to you in a flood of lights and you go boneless.

Even in the mess he’s made of you, he likes this look much better than the polished party princess from earlier. You looked pretty before but now your fucked out form looked good enough to eat, punched out gasps leaving your chest. Taking his fingers out, he cleans your cum off them, eyes fluttering at the taste as he runs his other hand up and down your back, settling on your deep arch when he feels your shaky hand reach back to grip his thigh.

“G’nna fuck me now?” Oh, poor thing. He was going to fuck you stupid. Shame that you already sounded so dazed when the fun was just getting started. Grabbing his cock with the hand that was covered in you, he slides it between your folds, groaning at the hot slick, moving back and forth- fat head bumping your clit.

“Yeah, baby. ‘M gonna fuck you but”, he pulls your head back by your hair, the burn brings you out of your haze a bit and you hum to let him know you’re listening,

“You better not pass out. Understand?” You bite your lip, moaning from your throat as you wiggle your hips, feeling the weight of his cock against your hole but not sliding in until you agree.

“Mhm, yes sir-” He cuts you off with a snap of his hips, thrusting into your sopping heat with chest thick groan, hissing through his teeth- tingles buzzing through him. You were still so wet and tight, pussy almost choking his length as he set to thrusting right away; fat cock battering your insides.

The stretch hurt. But it hurt so good and you find that you missed being stuffed so full, crying out with the grip on your hair tightening while he fucked you like he paid for you. Broken wails spill from your throat at the harsh way he pounds them out of you, front snapping against your ass. Watching the bounce with hungry eyes, veins on his forearms popping out from every time he pulled- eventually burying his hand deeper- holding you down as he goes harder, hips snapping nice ‘n deep against yours and you scream in bliss.

You feel so fucked up because even though you were so sensitive that it bordered on painful you can’t keep yourself from whining for more. He was just as fucked up though. Apparently being a facilitator of murder wasn’t enough, now he was fucking his friend’s daughter- that he was much older than- senseless at almost 2 in the morning but you looked damn good while he did.

Messy hair and tear streaked makeup, bite swollen lips with your pretty little dress yanked up, dark handprints bruised all over your backside while you get railed with your ass up. Yeah. If you were fucked up for this then it was fine; he was beyond fucked up too.

Slick runs down the inside of your thighs and you groan, muscles spasming as you feel your impending orgasm get closer, bleating screams rising in pitch when you feel him grind filthily at the gooey bundle of nerves inside you and you don’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed at the way your cunt leaks like a ruptured faucet, ruining his pants again.

His rakes his fingers firmly through your scalp and the sound that comes from you is nothing short of pathetic- making his smirk positively wolffish when he leans down close; licking a wet stripe from your cheek to your ear. It’s primal and he revels in your shudder, voice rasp with heady arousal as he purrs out,

“Cum. Squirt yourself to a headache f’me, princess. You earned it.”

You’re sure that in the moments that follow, you pass away. Unlike your previous orgasms that only ripped through you, this one rips you apart and it’s devastating. Chest burning, you black out. Molten hot euphoria makes every synapse inside of you sizzle until your nerves light off as liquid shoots from your cunt that’s tightened around his fat cock like a vice; milking him in the wake of your bliss. His own eyes roll back as he fucks you through both of your highs, cursing at the mind numbing pleasure.

He turns you over without pulling out, hissing at your wrecked appearance before leaning down to catch you in a deep kiss, moving your head with the force as your lips smack against each other. You jerk when you feel him tongue along the inseam of your cheek before he pulls away with a short gasp, pulling out with a sigh. Letting you watch him as he fixes his pants but not his hair, leaving the strands that had fallen in his face when he was inside you.

You sigh at the relief of pressure finally off your back, leaning into his touch when he moves to grasp your chin. All he has to do is raise an eyebrow for you to get it, making his chest roll in satisfaction.

“Thank you for making me cum, sir.” Your voice is still scratchy from the work he put your vocal cords through and he huffs out a breath, smiling gracefully down at you.

“Of course, baby.” The petname brings another surge of heat to your face as you look away from him. You’re cute. How you’re shy after everything you’ve done together. He moves his hand and shuffles back, long arm reaching behind him to open the door and you slam your legs shut, which did nothing since your little dress never covered a damn thing even when it was pulled down.

Getting out, he swipes his suit jacket off the back of a seat, dropping it over your near naked form with a chuckle before closing the door as he walks through the night air to the drivers side, starting his car the second he gets in before he listens to the thoughts telling him to just take you.

“…soooo- what now?” You ask shyly because you’re still unsure about whatever dynamic you two had; even though it was very fun, there was still the age gap and the fact that he was buddies with your dad. The soreness was already starting to set in and you’re tired.

“We are going to a store- so you can clean up and get something that actually functions as clothing before I take you home.” Huh?

“You’re not gonna tell?” The confusion in your voice makes him laugh as he flicks his eyes up at you through the mirror.

“No. I got something out of it too, remember?” You hear the teasing in his voice and it makes you jittery, nodding in response as he speeds up. He honestly had no business looking that sexy while driving, pouting until his voice breaks you out of your reverie; his next words send your heart racing.

“I’ll keep your secrets if you keep being a good little thing. Deal?”

You’re silent as you mull it over. You already have secrets so what’s one more? Biting your lip, you think of just how much fun this could be. A little series (😉) of rendezvous with a forbidden man. Your dad never had to know.

And since you know he’ll never tell….

“Deal.”

He smiles, dark eyes brimming with something unsettling. He couldn’t wait to turn you out.

You still had no idea who he was and for your sake, he hopes on your behalf that it stays that way.

Part 3…

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game smut #the salesman #the salesman x reader #the salesman smut #gong yoo x reader #gong yoo #gong yoo smut #the recruiter x reader #the recruiter

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gojonanami · 1 year ago

Text

❝ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 !! ❞

❝ WHEN YOUR EX HUSBAND FINDS OUT YOU'RE DATING AGAIN, HOW DO YOU END UP FUCKING HIM IN YOUR BED ?? ❞

✧ pairing: ex-husband!satoru gojo x f!reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo is the man everyone wants, except you -- well you married him and you wanted him, but when he pushed you away after you had your daughter, you had no choice but to divorce him. so what happens when he comes to pick up your daughter for his weekend, and he finds you ready for a date? and how is it you always end up under him?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, exes to lovers, modern au! (no curses), gojo is a CEO of a company, gojo has a daughter with you, divorced, some angst, switch! gojo, nipple play, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), semi public sex (near entryway), semi exhibitionism, sex (p in v), creampie, swearing,

✧ wc: 8,271

“You were supposed to be here at 6:00 PM,”

Satoru Gojo stood in your doorway, as opposed to splashed on the covers of magazines and countless front page articles — you would think it would be business magazines, but you would only be partially correct — he made the covers of business, fashion, health, entertainment, and even a few women’s magazines.

And what every single one had made apparent in their colorful print was that Satoru Gojo was anyone’s ideal man — the CEO of the wildly successful Six Eyes Corp, a philanthropist in his free time spent mentoring children and teenagers through establishing proper programs, and he was flawlessly beautiful — ocean blue eyes you could drown in, porcelain skin seemingly without a blemish or scar, and pretty lips that were a weapon when curled in a smirk.

Just as they were now.

“Well,” he smirks, leaning against your door frame, “I’m sure it’s 6:00 PM somewhere,”

“Well, I’m not concerned with somewhere else since you daughter exists here, not elsewhere,” your words lacked their usual bite, only tinged with annoyance rather than cutting anger, “but good thing I told you to be here an hour and half earlier than I needed you,”

Needed him as just as you did before you had divorced — just as you asked him to be. But he only grew more distant by the day — and soon he was already out the door when you had served him with divorce papers.

And now, you can almost forget how it used to be — your eyes catch sight of the picture on your mantle of the two of you with your daughter, Satoru’s lips pressed to your cheeks as yours were pressed to your little angel — almost.

He gapes at you as you walk inside, as he follows behind you, the click of the door closing overshadowed by the sound of his voice.

“How could you lie to me, sweetheart? Thought we had a bond of trust,” you don’t have to look back at him to know he has a pout on his lips that would quickly melt into a grin if you conceded.

“Bond of trust ended when you showed up two hours late to pick up our daughter,” and he grumbles, cheeks tinged with pink.

“That was one time! I’m never that late. And it’s only on a Fridays when I have—“

“Meetings all day,” you finish with a sigh, “I know, Gojo, I know it’s not on purpose — but I know you’re always late on Fridays so I found a solution,” your lips curl, “anyway, our girl is napping still, so give her a bit before you wake her, but you can stay here until she does,” you’re shrugging off your bathrobe, littered with flecks of makeup, only to have a gorgeous black dress underneath.

One that he very much hadn’t seen before — and he would know, he’s explored every centimeter very intimately of each one of your dresses, but this is new. His eyes skim down the exposed skin of your thighs — very new, but very familiar.

He’s running fingers through his hair, not bothering to hide how his gaze rakes over his body, “Special occasion? Don’t tell me your birthday suddenly moved months, or I forgot our anniversary,”

You scoff, as you pick out earrings from your jewelry box, “Does an anniversary count when you’re divorced?” you can’t hide the hint of bitterness in your voice, and he’s stepping closer as you look in your vanity to put your earrings on, only to meet his gaze in the mirror, deep blue sucking you in as it always does.

“But you’ll always be mine,” and you roll your eyes, expecting a cheeky grin, but find genuine longing in his expression, before it's hidden away behind a frown, “but you still haven’t told me where you’re going, sweetheart,”

A sigh stuck in your throat, ignoring the use of your usual pet name that he had lost the rights when the ink dried on your divorce, as your teeth graze your bottom lip, “I have a date tonight,”

He tilts his head, “A date?” and you can already hear it in his voice — ice creeping over usually still waters, “who’s the lucky guy? And do I get to meet him?”

“And have you scare him off?” And he only grins in reply, hands slipping into his pockets.

“If he’s intimidated by me, isn’t that more on him than me, sweetheart?” His footsteps only grow closer, as you turn to look at him, his hand on the wood of your vanity, nearly caging you in on side, “after all, he may be your date, but I’ll always be your husband, and the father of our daughter,”

You didn’t know whether you wanted to kiss him or slap him — slapping him was self explanatory, but the want to kiss him was a lingering feeling, one that you couldn’t shed — no matter how much time passed. But that was the thing about Satoru Gojo — it was easy to fall in love with him, but even harder to fall out.

And a part of you could never admit to yourself that you never did.

No matter how hard you try.

“You haven’t been my husband for a year and half now, Gojo — a year legally now,”

And he’s changing tactics, “You still haven’t answered my question, who are you going on a date with?” And you already can feel the beginning of a headache throbbing in your forehead, and you know why no one could say no to Satoru Gojo — because you’re sure he’s never understood it.

“Why do you need to know?” And he's tilting his head, a small scoff parting his lips.

“I need to know who you're potentially bringing home, don’t I?” and he’s far too close, and you don’t know why you’re not pulling away — his breath warming your skin, as he drags a finger down your cheek, “The man who might step foot in our home, might meet our daughter,” and his thumb brushes over your lips, “might kiss my wife—“

“Gojo—“

“Satoru,” he corrects you.

You rub at your temples — yup, you definitely have a headache now. You brush past him, heading to the living room to pick up some of the mess, hoping your ex would somehow fall and hit his head on the doorframe and forget this conversation.

“And this dress?” Ah, no such luck, “did you buy it for the date?”

“Do you keep a catalog of my wardrobe?” you scowl as you pick up the strewn about toys and things to collect into your daughter’s toy bin, and he’s bending down too to pick up your daughter’s things in his hundred thousand yen suit.

“So you didn’t deny it,” and you sigh again, but grit your teeth all the same, his sharp words finely grating on your nerves.

“This isn’t a business negotiation, you don’t win just because you use my words against me,” you stand up after picking up the last of the things, “yes it’s a new dress, and yes I bought it for the date since this is my first date in years, happy?”

“Thrilled,” he says flatly, and you know it’s not the end of the discussion, “remember our first date?”

And how could you forget? But you decide to humor him, if only for a break from the interrogation.

“Which one? Because one was a date, and the other—“

He raises an eyebrow, “It was a date too, I asked you out—“

“You asked me to hang out—“

“And we kissed—“

“Only because I told you how I felt first—“ and he smirks again and you know you’ve dug yourself into a hole, cheeks burning at his stupidly smug face, “shut up,”

“And what did you say again?” He slips the things you have in your hands into the toy box, his fingers brushing yours, and his touch is the same as you remember, even the barest brush was enough for your traitorous soul to yearn for more.

“You know what I said,” his lips curl, the same smile he had given you all those years ago that made you fall for him in the first place, but his raise of his brow tells you he’s not going to let it go until you say it, “I told you that I liked you for a long time, and I was tired of waiting for you to make the first move. Because maybe by then it would be too late,” and his fingers brush against your cheek, featherlight — just as the bunches of butterflies that bloom in your stomach.

“And you say that wasn’t a date,” and you scoff, biting back the small smile on your lips, “will any other first date compare to that?”

“Gojo—“

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you know his brow is furrowed without having to look at him, “do you have to call me by my last name—“

“I do, because Satoru was my husband, and Gojo is my ex—“

“I’m still your husband—“ and you give a bitter chuckle.

“In what world? We’re divorced, it’s over,“

“It doesn’t have to be,”

“But it does. This isn’t me confessing to you on a movie night curled up on my twin bed. This is my ex-husband asking me to give him another chance far too late,” you slip past him, but he follows behind anyway, as you stand near the entryway to your home, “it’s time to move on,” and you’re stepping from your bedroom and only reach the doorway when he speaks.

“How can I move on when I never wanted to?” You still yourself in your tracks, fingers curling into a fist.

Not this right now. Not now. “Gojo—“ you sigh.

You’re so tired. You were hoping you wouldn’t have to have this conversation. You never had expected to have this conversation, not when you wanted to only marry one man your entire life was the one to break your heart.

“It's almost two years too late for this conversation,” you willed your voice not to break — not when your heart was long broken by him, and you wouldn’t allow him to do it again, “you should have had it with me before I filed. When I asked you to spend your time with us, when I asked you to take time off, when I asked you to be present in our lives—“

“Sweetheart-“ and you snap.

“Don’t call me that,” your quiet words hang in the silence, the wedding bells he heard in his head were nothing more than the sounds of bells drowning out the mourners screams, “don’t call me that when you don’t get to anymore,”

“I’ll always be yours, sweetheart, a few papers don’t change that,” and he’s stepping towards you, but you’re rooted to your spot, and you want to say it’s stubbornness, but you know what it really is —weakness, because Satoru Gojo was your one and only weakness. And even now, walls raised and erected against him came tumbling down with one touch.

Because he knew exactly where to touch and what to say.

“Do you think any other man could please you the way I can? I know every place, every sound, every inch of you — inside and out,” he’s nearly against your back now, “are you going to let a stranger do that? Let them learn how to please you, but knowing your husband knows how to do it better,”

“Ex-husband,” and he’s leaning down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, “we shouldn’t—“

“And yet you’re letting me,” his nose brushes against the soft skin of your neck, warm breath sending a shiver down to the tips of your toes, and his words sending a wave of need right to your core, “because you know it’s true,” his hands tentatively brush against your hips and when you don’t resist, he squeezes, drawing a gasp from you, lips curled in a smirk, “more sensitive than usual, Princess? Been too long?”

“I swear to god—“ he’s cutting you off with a bruising kiss, a rubber band snapping back against your skin, and now it’s taut against you, ensnaring you in its grasp. And yet, his kiss is so sweet, affection dripping from the slide of lips to the caress of his fingers against your cheek, and it reminds you of just why you don’t want to let go.

“You don’t have to swear yourself to me, but I’d appreciate it, Princess,” and his mouth reminds you of the reason you (and that you don’t).

“Gojo—“ and he’s placing more kisses along your jaw now.

“Shouldn’t you at least call me Satoru now that we’ve kissed?”

“You’re impossible—“

“And yet I’m here,” his teeth nibbles at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, tongue flicking over the blooming love bite, “almost forgot how sweet you taste,” he’s humming, as he kisses along your shoulder before he toys with the strap of your dress, “almost,” his large palms slide down your body, skimming your bare thighs as he’s pressing you against the walls, “but your skin isn’t what I want to taste,”

You gasp, “we can’t—“ but why were you letting him? Irritation overrode by lust, and he knew the spots to make you bend to him, his hands squeezing your hips, “fuck you,” you wonder if his touch are phantoms engraved against your skin and muscles, forced to repeat the same patterns again and again — and a hand slides back up to cup your cheek.

“That’s what I’m trying to do, sweetheart,” his lips find yours again, his tongue dragging against the seam of your lips, before slipping inside. His hand is lifting your thigh around his waist, as his lips part from your own, eyes raking over your pretty, bitten red lips, “do you know how much I missed you?”

“No, I don’t,” and his smile slips from his lips, as he cups your chin, “Satoru—“

“Even all the days I was gone, there wasn’t a second I didn’t think of you,” you waver a moment at the sadness rippling through his gaze, “I know I wasn’t there—“ his lips press a kiss to your forehead.

“Why weren’t you?”

And that’s when there’s a knock at the door that makes your heads snap over to stare at the door a good four or five feet from you, the shadow of feet visible through the crack at the bottom of the door, and you were sure it was your date.

“Fuck,” you whsiper under your breath, “you have to go—“ your palms pressed flat against his chest, but Satoru doesn’t budge, “please, I have to get the—“

And his hand is slipping up and under your dress, hiking the material higher, “do you really want to go on your date like this, sweetheart?” His fingers graze your soaked panties, a gasp pulled from your lips, lithe fingers rubbing and pinching your clit through the thin fabric, “gonna go see him when you’re this wet?”

“Please—“ and his fingers snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin, drawing a squeal from your mouth, “fuck—“

“Any louder, Princess, and he might hear us,” he’s leaning down to press his forehead to yours, forcing your gaze to meet yours, “but maybe I should let him, let him know who’s the only one who can make you feel this good,” his words only make your cunt flutter, as if your body was in agreement, even if your mind was still in denial, “you’re much more honest down here, Princess, but you always were,”

Another knock as your attention is being tugged only for him to yank it back as his finger slips inside you. You’re burying your face in the crook of his neck to stifle your moans — his fingers were so much longer than yours, reaching places you could only have dreamed of — when you had dreamed of him.

His finger squelches as he fucks you open, walls squeezing around him as your molten insides cling to his touch desperately. Small whines and pants are muffled against your hand as you clamp it over, your phone vibrating uselessly with your date’s messages inside your purse.

“Please, Satoru let me—“ and he’s ripping your underwear, as he’s forcing your dress higher, “I have to tell him—“

“Tell him what?” His eyes are nearly glowing in the dim light of the fluorescents leaking in from the living room, “tell him you’d go on your date with him but you’re too busy being finger fucked by your husband?” And he’s sinking another finger into you, making your head loll back against the wall, “tell him that you’d let him fuck you in our bed, but you’re too busy letting me?”

“Sa-toru—“ you’re biting back your whines, glancing at the door, but he’s forcing your gaze back to him, his thumb pressed against your chin, “just let me—“

And he’s turning you in front of the mirror near the entryway, forcing you to look at yourself — your lips kiss bitten and ruined, your dress hiked up and mussed, and underwear tugged down to your ankles.

“Do you want him to see you like this?” His breath is hot in your ear, a soft murmur that makes your knees nearly buckle, “want him to see you how much of a mess I’ve made you?” His fingers sink into you again, a third finger with the other two. The lewd squelch of your cunt rings in your ears, your eyes catching sight of your own moans and pants in the mirror, your walls squeezing around them, “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, sweetheart, and now you can watch too,” he’s guiding your gaze back to watch yourself, watching him knuckle deep in your sweet cunt, “gonna make you watch your tight pussy break my fingers,” he spreads his fingers inside you, letting you watch your slice drip down his fingers and wrist and splatter on the floor.

And your head falls back against his shoulder — he’s thrusting into you faster, your walls working deeper and deeper into you — fingers curling against your molten insides, until he’s finding that one spot that has your lips falling open, “I’m so—” your voice is a broken whisper, and he’s pressing a kiss to your jaw, “Please—“

“Cum f’me baby,” his thumb rubs at your clit, and you do, walls clamping down as you cum, his fingers relentless as they fuck you through your orgasm, a wordless moan of his name on your lips. He’s holding you up as he does, your body buckling under the pleasure, blood roaring in your ears that slowly ebbs away, as his fingers slow, and you’re shuddering under his touch, “good girl,” and your walls flutter as he pulls out as if they want him to stay, and he’s tilting your gaze, “watch,” your eyes open reluctantly, a small moan on your lips as you watch him carefully each one of his fingers clean, pink tongue darting out to lick at the trails of your juices that had dripped down his palm and wrist, “still the sweetest thing I’ve had, princess,”

And there’s another knock, as he clicks his tongue, “Doesn’t give up does he?” and he’s pressing a kiss to your neck, “must have really done a number on him and he’s willing to wait this long for you, huh?” he hums, nuzzling the hollow of your throat, “but I can relate. So, should I let him down for you?”

Your eyes fly open, meeting his cheeky gaze with a glare, “Don’t you fucking dare,”

“What? You still want to go out with him? Be my guest, but,” and he’s pulling at your ruined underwear until they rip under his touch, “can’t wear these, can you?” you gape at him as he pockets the ruined panties with a shit eating grin, “for later,” and you’re scoffing, and you hear a call of your name through the door.

And you take a better look at yourself — completely disheveled and marked up along your neck from his kisses and nips, your skin shiny with a sheen of sweat, and your lips obviously bruised and bitten from his treatment.

“Fuck,” you can’t go out like this — it looks as if you’d spent the morning before getting ravished, panic sets in as you hear his voice through the door.

“Want me to send him on his way?” Satoru’s hands curl around your waist, “our angel’s still fast asleep, and that means we can spend some time together—“

“Fuck off,” you hiss, walking over to the door, “Atsuya, I’m sorry I can’t go out today. I’m not feeling well,”

“Eh? Are you okay? Do you need anything?” And Satoru steps forward to speak but you cover his mouth with his hand.

“No, I’m fine, but I have the flu and I’m still contagious, so I don’t want to get you—“ Satoru drags his tongue between your fingers — this fucker, “sick,”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and take care of you?” Satoru’s hands are dragging over your sides, squeezing your far too sensitive hips.

“Hear that?” Satoru’s whispering to you between the gaps of your fingers, “He wants to take care of you. Should you let him? Maybe he could fuck you better in the home we bought together and in the bed we shared,”

“No, I’m fine, really, I-I—“ and Satoru’s sucking at your finger, tongue curling around the digit, and you grit your teeth, “I’m going to rest. I’ll text you later, I’m sorry—“ and you don’t get to hear the rest of what he says, as Satoru’s pulling your hand away, and finding your lips in another kiss.

You hate how good this man is at kissing, his lips and touch must have the ability to leech sense from your brain, and leave lust in its place.

“What’s wrong with you?” you mumble against his lips, as his lips burn a trail of kisses down your jaw, a smirk against your skin.

“Nothing’s wrong with me, except that I love you,” he’s pouting again, “you think that guy could please you the way I could?”

“No, but maybe he would actually be there,” you bite back and his kisses pause, smirk slipping into a frown.

“I know I’ve made mistakes—“

You give a bitter chuckle, “Mistakes? You left us,”

He opens and closes his mouth, “you’re right I did, and I’m sorry,” his words are slow, but so is the anger building inside you, “but I’m asking for a second chance, begging for one more chance—“

You finally turn to face him, and you can only hope the tears welling in your eyes weren’t noticeable, “You don’t get to beg, when I already did,” your voice finally breaks, as your clenched fist shakes, “where were you? After our daughter was born, you were gone. You kept saying you would make time for us, you would be there for us, but you just busier and busier, and the only time I’d see you were the nights you made it home to crawl into bed,”

“I—“

“No, I’m tired, I’m tired of waiting and being upset, I’m so done—“ and he’s pulling you into his arms, and the familiarity of his grasp is nearly enough for your defenses to crumble, but you can’t, “Satoru”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I did wrong. I know I don’t deserve you or our baby, not after all I did,” he’s murmuring, “but it was never because of you or her,”

Tears spill from your eyes, streaming down your cheeks, “I used to cry, thinking that not only that I wasn’t enough, but your daughter wasn’t enough either—“

“You weren’t the ones that wasn’t enough,” he cuts you off, “I am,” the last words come out a whisper, as he runs fingers through his hair, “I’m the one who wasn’t good enough,”

You stare at him, “What do you mean?”

He’s scrubbing a hand down his face, “I don’t know how to be a husband, much less a father. I didn’t think I even wanted to be either, until I met you,” his voice softens, “and then I wanted it all if it was with you,”

“Satoru—“ and he’s shaking his head.

“I thought I could handle it — but when I saw you two — the two most important people in my life — how much you were counting on me, how much you needed me to not fail — I threw myself into work,” he’s swallowing, “I thought if I could support you both, things would get better. But it only made things worse because I pushed myself away,”

“Why?”

“Because I thought I’d mess it up — I don’t know how to be a father. I didn’t even know I wanted to be a husband until we got married,” and you swallow, “I thought I never would after watching my dad neglect and abuse me and my mom,” you knit your brow together, “and there were so many nights when you were sleeping, I got so frustrated with our angel. She wouldn’t sleep, she screamed for hours, and I just felt like I had failed her. And I would just fail you too,” he scrubbed a hand down his face, “so—“

“So you ran away,” you finish, voice caught in your throat.

He gives a curt nod, “And when you filed, I knew it was coming, but I thought you both would be better off. I thought even if I was miserable, it would be worth it to see you two happy—“

“Satoru, do you think I would be happy without my husband?” Your sigh stuck in your throat as your fingers find his cheek, featherlight, but he crumbles and melts against it, as if he was a statue made to wait for your touch, “you’re nothing like your father. I see you with Satomi, I see how much you love her — you dote on her, you know what she likes — she gets a cut and you’re panicking,” you chuckle as he huffs, a cute blush settling over his cheeks, “and you were a good husband, when you talked to me and didn’t run away,”

“I know,” and the question unspoken hangs in the air, “can I be again? Your husband,” and your instinct is to pull him into your arms, where you wanted him to be, where you always wanted to be, but your instinct is tangled in fear, barbed wire dragging you down and digging into your skin.

“I want you to be,” his eyes light up, hope flicking across his gaze like a comet tail, until it burns out with your next words, “but I’m scared,” you swallow, arms crossed, hoping if you physically hold yourself maybe you could hold yourself together, “I don’t want to get hurt again,”

“I won’t, I promise,” he’s cupping your cheek again, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, “every night I only thought of you and Satomi — there’s no one else that matters,” he’s drawing closer again, it makes you want nothing more than his touch again — it had been too long — too long without him.

And your lips find his again, it’s a chaste kiss at first, a breath shared a centimeter apart, as his eyes find yours, brow furrowed, “We have a lot to talk about,” you murmur, as your lips graze his again, and he’s chasing your lips, “but it’s going to take time,” God, you want to kiss his knowing pout away, as you drag a thumb down his lips, “a lot of making up to me and our angel,” He’s nodding obediently, a complete puppy under your touch, as he shivers as your fingers run through his hair before tugging, “are you ready for that?”

“Yes, baby,” he’s biting his lip, fingers twitching wanting to touch you.

Your lips curl, “Good boy.”

“All that big talk and now look at you, Toru,” Satoru’s white knuckled fingers fisted at the sheets of your shared bed, as your own fingers teased the head of his leaking cock through his boxers, “such a mess for me,”

You kneel at the foot of your bed, settled between his thighs, and though you were on your knees, you were the one who held the power. Fingers tracing the trigger right within your grasp, his cock twitching against your hand.

“Please, sweetheart, fuck,” he’s hissing when your lips lean down to press a kiss to his clothes weeping slit, the wet heat of your mouth seeps through, making him twitch against your touch — a spark of need that burns against his skin and boils his blood underneath with need, “please, don’t tease me,”

“Well that’s not fair,” you hum, as your fingers toy with the elastic of his boxers, snapping the elastic against your skin, sending a shiver up his body along with an ache that reaches his bones — and he wondered how he had let your grip on him grow this deep — and how he had ever let it go when it felt this good, “when you’re being teased I’m supposed to relent, even though you made me cum downstairs in my entryway?”

And he’s swallowing thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing just as anticipatory as the rest of his body, a bow string drawn tight just waiting for you to release it. But you wished to toy with the arrow more.

“I have half a mind to make you clean my cum off the floor with your tongue,” you click your own tongue as a taunt, but that only makes him squirm, “but maybe I’ll spare you since you’re being so good for me,” you’re dragging your fingers down his boxers, freeing his cock— already far too hard, flushed and dripping with precum as it slaps against his stomach, the flared head nearly begging you to touch it, “tell me what you want,” his cock is far too gorgeous, you thought that from the first time you saw it — long and curved, and the veins that ran along it were so pretty— just like the man himself.

And a whimper escapes his lips, “sweetheart, please, touch me—“

“With what?” you thumb his tip lightly, smearing the cum down his shaft, “my fingers? Or my mouth,” and your lips lick the pre that clings to your thumb clean, dragging your thumb down the flat of your tongue.

“Y-Your mouth,” and you’re smiling, your lips curling as his pretty gaze pleads with you, “please,”

“Imagine your subordinates saw you like this, begging your ex-wife to blow you, nearly ready to blow your load already just from fingering me,” your fingers toy with his balls, while you leans down to trace the tip of his tongue up the bottom of his cock, “what do you think they’d say?” And your lips part to let his engorged tip enter, as his head falls back with a groan, the wet and warm mouth, as you start to bob your head up and down his length.

“Fuuuuck, pretty,” and you’re pausing as you wait for a reply to your question, his own tongue tying itself in knots, “think I’m down bad for my wife,” he’s grunting, the words ‘my wife’ and his groans sending white hot arousal to your needy cunt, “think I’d let her fuck me anyway she wants and they would be right, sweets. I’d let you use me,” your tongue is wrapped around his length, as his dick sinks deeper into your mouth, nose brushing against his pubes, his hips held taut as he forces himself not to face fuck you.

And his eyes flutter down to meet yours, only to find your eyes drowning in lust, molten with need that nearly burned him with want, lips sloppy and dripping with a mix of precum and your spit out of the corners of your mouth, and your fingers —buried deep in your cunt as you sucked him off.

Fuck.

With the nasty way you slurped at his length, the noise ringing in his ear as your fingers begin to squeeze and stroke his balls, he wasn’t going to last much longer. His hips bucked against your mouth, and he’s muttering apologies but you let him, moaning as his tip hits the back of your throat.

“I’m close—where—“ and you’re sucking hard, tongue flicking against his slit and when he fucks your mouth once, twice — he’s gone. He’s cumming down your throat, hot spurts of cum painting your lips and mouth, his head falls back, fingers gripping the sheets as his eyes flutter open. And he watches you pull away from his cock, sticky strings of cum and saliva connecting you to his length still, “fuck, sweetheart,” his softening dick already twitching at the sight of you — your pretty tongue darting out to lick his cum from your lips.

“You taste as good as I remember, Toru — always so sweet,” and you’re pulling your own fingers from inside your tight pussy, and he snaps.

You’re on your back on the bed now, flopped down against the mattress as his hand closes around your wrist of the hand that was just inside you. Your words are lodged in your throat but come out a shiver when he brings your soaked fingers to his lips, he kisses each one before sucking and licking them clean.

“Toru—“ and he pulls away from the last finger with a pop, eyes clouded with need, “I—“

“And you say I taste good?” he’s humming, as he leans over you, “wait until you taste yourself, Princess,” and his mouth is insistent on giving you an entire course of your taste on his tongue, mapping out a detailed cartography of very crook and crevice of your mouth, “aren’t you so much sweeter?” He’s pulling away from your bitten red lips, spit connecting your lips still, “and that taste is all mine, just like you, wifey,”

The pet name sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins, stoking the burning need already threatening to consume you both, “Toru—“ and he’s already stripping your dress away, pulled away up and over your head, thrown away like every thought of why this was a bad idea. Your nipples perk in the cool air of your bedroom and under his hot gaze, standing at attention as if they’re begging for his attention. And he’s more than happy to oblige.

His fingers toy with the buds, rolling between your forefinger and thumb, until he’s bending down to take one in his mouth, and you’re arching into his touch, your fingers finding purchase on his shoulders.

“Bet Atsuya would love to see you like this, huh?” He’s switching to the other side, teeth dragging against your nipple to draw a gasp from your lips, “Would love to see you such a mess like this, spread out and needy,” and he’s spreading you with warm palms, his half hard cock brushing against your thigh, “Were you gonna let him fuck you on this bed? Our bed?”

He doesn’t allow you an answer as his fingers spread your dripping walls, “Gonna let him taste you like this?” His lips warm your fluttering pussy, nearly begging for his touch and to swallow you whole, “when I already said this pretty cunt was mine,” he clicks his tongue far too close, making you whine, “g’nna have to answer my question first, Princess,”

“No, I wouldn’t,” and he presses a chaste kiss to your dripping pussy, making you whimper, your walls spasming around nothing, “Toru,”

“Remember when we moved into this home?” his lips are teasing your inner thigh, teeth dragging against your hot skin, “we broke the bed in all night long,” he’s looking up through half lidded eyes, “think he could please you like that? Make you moan his name?”

And you’re growing desperate as his lips draw close to your clit, tongue dragging against it, only to pull away to your thighs again, “no, no, only you, Toru, please—“

“Only I what?” oh you know he’s goading you, but your want is drawn taut like a stringed instrument, tweaking your strings when you’re dying for him to play you — “c’mon sweetheart,”

“Only you make me feel this good — fuck, Toru, I swear to god—“ your head falls back into the pillow as his face buries itself in your cunt, his laugh vibrates against your walls, pleasure rising faster than smoke from a burning building. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you in place now, settled between your legs.

“You swear to me what?” and you swear his god complex gets worse and worse, and the way you moaned with his head between your legs wasn’t helping, “sorry, Princess, I have my mouth full,” and his tongue as silver as his words were, parting your folds with ease, as his lips slurped at your folds messily.

Fuck, he was too good at it, and he knew it, smirk on his lips as the wet, nasty noises of his mouth wrapped around your cunt and your bordering pornographic moans filled the silence. Pleasure ribboned up your body, mixing with the sharpness of his fingers pressed against your plush thighs to keep you in place.

“Gonna make me cum before I even fuck you, Princess,” and you hear the telltale squelch of his hand around his weeping dick — the shudder of your groan making him moan all the same, “taste so fucking good, never gonna go a night without tasting you again,” he murmurs far too reverently with his tongue dipping back into your folds for more of your juices, “you know how many times I fucked my fist to the thought of eating you out again? Never gonna spend a second without burying myself in this cunt,”

“Toru, I’m close—“ and you are, greedy tongue flitting over your clit, his nose bumping against his folds, and the practiced ease of his touch — he knew just what to do to make you cum. And he did, his mouth closing around your clit, before sucking harshly.

You cum on his face, swallowing your slick with the thrust of a desert weary man, his eagerness apparent on his soaked face, as you finally came down your high. He doesn’t waste a drop, only pulling away with a pop when your orgasm ebbs away, licking his lips clean of your juices.

“Still dripping even after I licked you clean?” He clicks his tongue as he watches your slick soak the sheet, “gonna have to find another way, maybe you need something bigger,” he hums in fake contemplation, “what can we use?”

“I have some sex toys that might do the trick,” and he scoffs, as he kisses up your body, before pressing his hard erection against your thigh.

“Don’t think any toy you have compares to me,” and you’re gasping as he drags the head of his cock against your puffy clit, “nothing can fill you up like I can,” and he groans as he watches your releases mix, “just for that, g’nna make you beg for it,”

“Toru,” you’re whining, but he’s only teasing your entrance with the head of his dick, your walls fluttering, already begging for him to sink into you, but he’s waiting for your mouth to do the same, “please, fuck me, I need you inside—“

He grins, “Well how can I deny my pretty wife when she asks so nicely?” And he’s splitting you open with his thick cock, balls deep with only a thrust of his hips. Your hands are grasping at him for purchase, needing to hold onto him as his cock stretches your walls out. It’s as if you remember him, walls sliding to accommodate him as they always did, but clinging to him desperately, a grunt parting his lips, as if they never wanted him to leave again. And you didn’t.

“So fucking tight, Princess,” he’s groaning in your ear, a swallow roll of his hips drawing a chorus of moans from both of you, “don’t have to break my dick off to keep it — I’ll take you anytime you want,” and he’s pressing your thighs forward, slinging one over his shoulder, as he presses himself even deeper.

A whine leaves the back of your throat, “too deep, Toru,” and his cock twitches inside you at that, “fuck,” and it takes everything in him not to blow his load there and then,

“You love it when I fuck you like this, Princess, or do I have to remind you?” And he does, beginning to piston in and out, the lewd slaps of skin and moans filling the air of your bedroom, “be careful or our daughter might wake from the sounds of her mommy getting fucked,” he clicks his tongue, “maybe we should give her another sibling?” He’s watching the way your cunt eagerly welcomes his cock, sinking in and out with ease, “fuck another baby into you, hm? Would you like that princess?”

“Toru, ngh,” your walls flutter at the thought of a kid, of his seed filling you up, “please—more—“

He gives a chuckle, “I’ll give you everything, sweetheart — fuck you so full that you’ll be dripping with my seed for days,” he’s grunting, legs trembling as his thrusts grow more sloppy as his orgasm begins to build, “fuck, you feel so good for me, “gonna give you another baby, make sure everyone knows you’re mine, my wife—“

“G’nna cum, Toru,” you’re falling back against the mattress, as he bends down to press a messy kiss to your lips, all tongue and teeth, before his fingers reach down to rub at your clit. Your eyes finding his, face flushed a pretty pink, eyes shrouded in a deep lust that was reserved only for you, and as he bucks into you even deeper, he brushes against that spongy spot that has the taut string snapping as you fall apart.

“Cum on my cock, sweetheart,” he’s grunting, as he grazes teeth along your neck before biting. And you cum hard, toes curling as your mouth falls open with only moans of his name on your lips. The way your walls squeeze around him has him only rutting into you harder, deeper, messier — as he watches the ring of cum pool around the base of his cock, fucking you through your orgasm, “g’nna cum—“ and you’re pulling him into another kiss, legs wrapped around him as he falls over the edge with you. Hot cum spills in ropes inside your walls, his hips rolling as he does, if only to fuck his cum deeper inside you.

“Toru, s’good, I—“ you’re incoherent nearly under him, soft kisses pressed along your jaw as you both come down from your highs, cock softening inside you only him to pull out, another groan of your name on his lips when he watches his cum drip from inside you, staining your thighs along with the sheets.

And you whimper when he’s gathering his spilled cum on two fingers only to push it back inside, “can’t let you waste a drop, can we, sweetheart?”

He’s finally pulling away, his other hand cupping your cheek, as he finds your lips in a lazy but far too sweet kiss, “Toru,” you mumble, “I never stopped loving you, because I don’t think I ever could,”

His eyes grow glassy, his fingers finding the back of your neck, “I know nothing I’ll do will make up for what I did — to you and Satomi, but,” he presses his forehead to yours, “if you both let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you,”

And tears burn at the corners of your eyes, “Just stay with us, and promise to never leave — that’s enough,” and your lips brush his, “you’re more than enough for us, Satoru,” and he kisses you again and again and again, nearly climbing on top of you again, when you both hear a tiny gasp from the door.

Your heads both snap over to your baby daughter leaning against the door, badly hidden behind it, as she pokes her head in, “did mommy and daddy make up?”

Your cheeks burn as you cover your face — you both had checked on Satomi before but she was fast asleep still, and now — you checked the time — 9:30 PM, you were sure she’d be up all night.

“Yes baby, mommy and daddy had some stuff to talk about,” Satoru grabs your robe for you, handing it over as he pulls his discarded boxers on under the sheets, “come here,” and she squeals as she runs into her daddy’s arms, Satoru scoops her up before pressing kisses all over her face, her giggles and his grin nearly too much for you.

“Now she’s gonna be up all night,” you murmur to Satoru, and he’s smiling.

“I can tire her out,” he grins, and then he adds with a whisper, “and then I’ll tire you out,” and you flush, shoving him playfully, “come on, my love, let’s go play for a while and let mama rest,” and he’s sliding out of bed, carrying her out of the bedroom, and you watch him, lying on your side, with a smile on your lips.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad having a husband — especially when it was Satoru Gojo.

Satoru lets you and Satomi sleep in the next morning, making a smoothie for himself, as he starts to prepare breakfast. He did tire you both out last night, especially you — and you did some exhausting of your own, his fingers running over the hickies you left all over his neck and collarbone with a slight hum. He tied your apron on himself, only boxers and a sleeveless tee on.

He started to crack eggs into a bowl with one hand. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again — he meant what he said. He would make it up to you, or at least he would try — and he would spend the rest of his life treasuring you and his kid — and maybe another if you let him have his way, he thought, biting back a grin.

You had turned him down last night when he asked,

“Don’t you think it’s time we try for another one?” His arms are winding around you, half hard erection already pressing into you, as the two of you stood right outside your daughter’s doorway, watching the angel sleep, “we did do well with the first one,”

“Toru, we just got back together, we’re not having another kid,” and he’s already pouting, you know without looking at him, “but that would be nice — for our daughter to have a sibling,” and god, it made him to take right there (which he did), but he couldn’t wait until all three of you were ready. Because he wouldn’t dare to miss a second of it — never again.

And then a knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts, and his brow furrows. Who could it be this early?

He walks over, checking through the peephole, a grin growing on his lips, oh, perfect timing. Satoru opens the door, leaning against the doorframe, “Yes?”

Atsuya Kusakabe frowns, jaw nearly dropping as he attempts not to gape at Satoru Gojo standing in his date’s doorway, nearly dropping the bag of medicine and soup he had packed up for you, “Uh, sorry, I was looking for—“

“My wife?” He raises a brow, and Kusakabe’s face blanches, as Satoru only smiles with a shrug, “sorry I should say ex-wife, we did get a divorce,” and Kusakabe’s mouth opens and closes, “but you know, she never stopped being mine,”

Kusakabe clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “where is—“

“She’s sleeping still,” Satoru’s lips curl, as he sighs, “she wasn’t feeling well yesterday, but I think I made her feel better last night,” and he’s rubbing the back of his neck, movement drawing his attention to your marks littering his body.

A flush crawls up his neck and ears and he clears his throat, “I-I see,” he thrusts the bag into Satoru’s hands, “could you please give this to her and let her know—“ and he’s shaking his head, rubbing at his temples, “tell her whatever you want.”

And he’s gone, door slamming behind him, click of the lock. He holds the bag behind him, only to walk forward to see you peeking from the bedroom, his button up shirt thrown over your head, as you rub your eyes, “who was it?”

He only smiles at you, dropping the bag in the trash, “No one important,” and he’s finding his way to your side, arms winding around your waist, “I made us breakfast,”

“Oh really?” You hum, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing sweet kisses that only makes you sigh contently, “what’s the occasion?”

“Oh, just the first day of the rest of our lives, nothing too big,” he hums, and you laugh, his favorite noise that only makes him fall deeper in love with you, if that was even possible, “have to treat you right don’t I, wifey?”

“Yes, you do,” and your lips find his again, “my husband,” and the word sticks in his chest, a missing piece that fits right back into place, and fixes a hole that had been aching for far too long, “should we go wake up our daughter?”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Together.”

✧ a/n: so i didn't think i'd finish this week with being at my sister's and having a con this weekend but i found the time! i hope you enjoyed this one. this is my reality for gojo i'm living in :) fun fact, satomi and satoru both mean enlightenment! :)

✧ taglist: @jasminelee324 , @forest-hashira , @spider-fan72 ,, @rougebrainsludge , @theshylittleelfgirl , @ririchurl , @johannakhalafalla , @hanlay , @fawnlikelore , @vickkysthings , @dead-kats , @hantaslittlearsonist t , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @augustwinesworld , @forest-fruits-jam , @kirashuu , @catsgomurp , @daddytojji , @notgoodforlife , @hyori2 , @shrimpy109 , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @sunamatic , @rougebrainsludge , @redmangotango , , @psychxbby , @nakariabnrb , @mua-for-now @dazailover1900 , @alwaysfreakingout , @yamaguccitadashi , @equikaz , @gojosatorubrainrot

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fanfiction #gojo x reader #gojo fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo satoru smut #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jjk gojo

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ilikeevilblondes · 2 months ago

Text

Wide Open

18+ MDNI!

Summary: After a long day of work, Joel expects nothing more from the evening than getting some shut-eye. Fate has other plans, however, because the daughter of the family next door forgot to close her blinds again and is putting on quite the show.

TL;DR: Joel gets off watching you get off.

W.C: ~2.8k

Warnings: pervyneighbour!joel x reader, he's a tiny bit of a creep, accidental voyeurism (kind of…), mutual masturbation, dildo usage, lowkey a tiny breeding kink, implied age gap as per ushe (late-40s, early-20s), (no outbreak!)

Note: this is your daily reminder to close your blinds, y'all. unless joel miller is your neighbour. then maybe don't, and fuck with him.

Part One | Part Two

Joel always said he’d retire ‘soon’.

Though as the years flew by, ‘soon’ remained ambiguously distant.

Presently, he had just come home from an unnecessarily hard day at work where some Einstein had misread the blueprint and cut every single piece of lumber half an inch too short.

Joel was pushing fifty now. If asked toward his earlier adulthood, he’d have claimed that fifty-years-old balanced right on the precipice of retirement. And by sixty, he’d be golfing daily, attempting to read something other than the backs of DVDs, and not worrying about stupid shit like redoing an entire section of framing because of Romero’s shitty-fucking-eyesight.

“Fuckin’ Romero,” Joel mumbled to himself as he locked the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter.

With heavy footsteps, he ambled toward the fridge, praying he had the foresight the night before to leave a can or two of Modelo for his future self.

The unwelcoming sterile glare of the fridge light greeted him as he yanked open the door. Worse, it greeted him with its contents, or lack thereof.

No Modelo.

Not even a lone, pitiful can of Keystone Light that Joel may have bought in desperation as a crappy substitute for literally any other beer.

Making a mental note to pick up a six-pack sometime tomorrow and, further down the line to maybe cut down on the beer, Joel trudged up the stairs to his bedroom.

His bedframe whined with a metallic creak as he sat on the edge, rubbing his hands down his face and feeling the scrape of his overgrown stubble on his worn palms.

Joel was more than ready to call it a night, he thought, as he leaned over to draw the curtains.

But he froze upon seeing you.

The two-story craftsman next door, formerly a ‘fixer-upper’, had been home to you and your parents ever since you moved in from the city a year ago. Your parents were mild-mannered neighbours who sent the street Christmas cards and kept the porch light on and took part in the neighbourhood watch patrol.

And you? You never made your bed, always had a book in your hands before sleeping, and more importantly, had a very noticeable habit of neglecting to close the blinds of your bedroom window.

Joel knew this, of course, because the bedroom of the two-story craftsman facing his house just so happened to belong to you.

“Shit,” Joel heaved a heavy sigh, still clutching the drawstring with notable tenseness.

Your cream-coloured blinds were slanted completely horizontally, allowing a direct view into your bedroom. And Joel found himself helplessly entranced, watching the back of your silhouette pull your shirt over your head and fling it across the room.

Fuck, you were very possibly wearing his favourite bra. The lacey ones that pushed your tits up real nice–

No. No, Joel, didn’t have a favourite bra of yours. What kind of neighbour would keep track of the family next door’s daughter’s bras?

You turned around and, to his delight, confirmed that you were wearing the exact pair.

Him, evidently.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back, running a hand through his greying hair and letting out a deep exhale.

You continued undressing, seemingly oblivious to the state of your blinds and the lack of privacy that state entailed. And further, oblivious of the old man next door watching intently as you unzipped your jeans and stepped out of them.

A thong. You had chosen to wear a thong that day. Because, of course, you had.

Bright red and stringy and covering virtually nothing, which left no part of your lower half to the imagination and Joel was able to see most of your perfect fucking pussy from the house over—

“The fuck am I doing?” Joel mumbled to himself and decidedly tore himself away from his window.

What was he doing?

It wasn’t like you were strangers. He knew you. He came over to barbecues hosted in your back garden, fixed the leak in your kitchen sink when your dad had called, and watched the Superbowl in your living room that one year.

And, as much as he may have indulged in watching you before, he had never lingered as much as just did. Usually, he’d be sated with a few seconds of your half-dressed state, and would only later conjure up that image in the shower to fuck his fist to.

The tightness in his pants seemed to disagree with that plan, and Joel was overcome with an overwhelming need to settle his problem down south immediately.

Joel turned back to his window, determined to draw the curtains shut once and for all and then quickly jerk off to the mere thought of you (not that that was a noble action in and of itself), when he, for the second time that evening, froze at the sight of you.

Your bedroom was furnished in a way that had your bed facing your window. So, your wonderfully respectful neighbour could easily have direct views of you lying on your bed chatting on your phone, or reading, or spread out and running your fingers through your slick folds.

If Joel thought he was hard before, he was definitely, painfully, rock-hard now.

As careless as you may have been in the past, you have never forgotten to close your blinds to this degree before.

And, owing to that logic, you would never slip up like this again.

So, one would be incredibly stupid to not take advantage of this rare opportunity.

“Fuck it,” Joel inhaled sharply.

He scrambled to undo his belt and unzip his jeans and pull them down just enough to tug his raging erection out of his briefs, all while desperately keeping his gaze set on you.

Bracing one hand against the wall, he let the other wrap around his cock, fisting it leisurely as he watched you take open-mouthed breaths while your fingers traced up your seam to rub at your clit, your thong haphazardly pushed to the side.

You looked so pretty like that; lying on your bed and touching yourself as if you had pent-up emotions of need you desperately ached to satisfy.

You went slowly, dragging your fingers down along your wet cunt and against your throbbing clit, likely savouring the intensity.

Joel matched your pace, his fist sliding in a lazy tempo around his aching member.

Fuck, he’d do anything to grind his cock against your pussy; feel it shiver and clench around nothing and coat his length with your seeping slick. He’d bet all his money he could make you come without even putting it inside, too. Needy fucking slut.

And then you dipped a finger inside.

Then another.

God, with the way you seemed to be shaking around two of your own slender fingers, Joel was sure you’d be a mess riding his.

Fuck, he’d even give you a third just to see you lose your fucking mind.

Maybe you’d beg him to stop, crying prettily and gasping in pitchy breaths that you just couldn’t take any more. But Joel believed you could, and he’d tell you so as he slipped his index finger to join the other two, feeling you clench around them—

Joel’s dick twitched in his hand and it was all he could do not to come early and let the show go to waste. Instead, he adopted a faster tempo, trying his damnedest to follow yours, however erratic it was.

Your mouth opened in a silent moan and you tossed your head back against your pillows as your fingers sped up in their ministrations.

Shit, you probably sounded real fuckin’ sweet, all overwhelmed with pleasure.

Again, your mouth parted, letting out a syllable of something Joel couldn’t hear, your tongue flicking out momentarily as you sounded it out.

Maybe it was Joel’s twisted imagination, but he was somewhat sure you had just moaned his name.

You probably didn’t, but it was a nice fucking dream, anyway.

He’d do just about anything to hear his name on your lips, whispered like a prayer or screamed like a plea as he relentlessly pounded into your tight fucking pussy. And, if given the opportunity, he’d fuck you so hard, a slurred babble of name would be the only thing you could say.

A familiar warmth began to pool at the pit of his stomach and his cock tensed even more.

Fuck, he was close.

And, he assumed you were, too, owing to the sheen of sweat on your body glistening under your lamp and the giant breaths you were heaving in.

“C’mon, babygirl.” He encouraged aloud despite being a good distance out of earshot, his voice coming out raspy and low. “Come for me,”

He watched you carefully, waiting for the moment your eyes fluttered shut and your hand stilled so he could close his eyes and imagine fucking his load into your spent cunt.

But no such series of events occurred.

Unexpectedly, however, you pulled your fingers out and flopped over on your stomach to reach for the bottom drawer of your bedside table.

What… the fuck?

Did you come already? Without Joel noticing? Shit, he definitely was too cocky in his familiarity with the female body if he didn’t clock your orgasm.

“Goddamnit.” Joel sighed, his hand coming to a complete stop.

Maybe it was better this way.

Maybe Joel could still salvage what little morality he retained and beg for forgiveness from the higher powers above—

And no, actually, he couldn’t because, being the dirty fucking whore you were, you pulled out what he recognised to be a dildo from your nightstand.

You stopped fingering yourself to get a dildo from your nightstand.

“Filthy girl,” Joel tutted through a depraved smile, watching with hazy, lust-flooded eyes as you sat back down, spat directly on the tip of the sex toy, and positioned it in front of your weeping pussy.

Who knew that the sweet girl next door, the one who always offered to help carry groceries or to water his plants while he was away, kept a thick fucking dildo near her bed.

Not just any dildo, either, Joel realised.

It must have been his lucky fucking day, because, upon squinting at the unholy sight, Joel discerned that the shade of which the toy was painted almost exactly matched the rich tan of his skin tone.

In other words, it was now going to be much easier to imagine himself fucking you when a close replica of his cock was pistoning in and out of your pretty cunt.

“You gonna put it in, sweetheart?” Joel sighed, his grip tightening around his length as he watched your dawdling.

Fuck, he was going to get humanity’s worst case of blue balls if you stretched this out any longer.

“C’mon, baby. Jus’ put it in. ‘S not that hard,” He all but whined.

He, a man pushing fifty, basically whined. Good lord, what kind of fucking temptress were you?

Thankfully, it seemed as though you heard his words, because right after, you had slid the first few inches inside your walls, gasping at its girth.

“Yeah, there you go.” Joel sucked in a sharp inhale as he thrust up into his fist. “That all? Oh, babygirl, you can give yourself more.”

As if reading his mind, you slowly began feeding yourself the rest of the tanned dildo, throwing your head backwards and chanting that syllable that was so dangerously close to Joel’s name.

For the purpose of that night, Joel took the liberty of imagining it was, in fact, his own name as he fucked up fully into his fist.

When you finally took the toy to the hilt, its fake carved balls pressing against your ass, you started moving it in and out of your drenched seam at a steady pace.

Joel let out a string of incoherent curses under his breath, which quickly turned into strained groans as he mirrored your rhythm, practically feeling the way your pretty pussy clenched around that fake dick.

Your chest was expanding and contracting frantically now and you were no doubt releasing breathy moans from the sensation of fucking yourself with those eight generous inches.

Joel wished he was in that room with you to give you the same and then some.

He’d kiss his way down to your tits and take a nipple into his mouth, tasting the sweetness of your skin as he bent you in half and made you see stars.

He wouldn’t even have cared too much if you passed out, as long as, when you woke up, he was still driving into you and kissing your cervix with each thrust, sending you barrelling into orgasm after unbound orgasm.

He’d hold out as long as it took to get you completely sated, and even a little more after. Maybe he’d even pop a certain little blue pill just to watch himself fuck his come deep inside you again and again after rounds of laborious exertion.

Joel’s dick twitched again at the mere thought.

And again, upon seeing the sight of you pulling the soaking dildo out of your tight hole and manoeuvering yourself to hover above the thing like you were about to sit on it.

Christ alive. You were going to ride your dildo.

“Shit,” Joel breathed, his eyes widening slightly. God, this would be a treat to watch.

Worrying your teeth on your lower lip, you began to slowly sink down on the toy, a silent scream leaving your parted lips as you steadily took it all the way to the fucking hilt.

Joel, he imagined you to have mewled. Joel, you’re so fucking big.

“‘S okay, sweetie, you’re doin’ real well.” Joel sighed, watching you adjust to the size. “Brave girl, doin’ so good. Now, go on and ride that cock. C’mon, baby.”

And so you did.

Bouncing up and down on the toy, your mouth opening in a steady stream of what seemed to be expletives, and your tits springing from your efforts.

Fuck, in his forty-something years of life, Joel had never seen such a pretty sight.

And, there you were, repeating that mystery syllable like your life depended on it.

Joel, Joel, Joel, he envisioned you whimpering.

You were close again. He was sure of it. If it wasn’t already painstakingly obvious from the way you were eagerly swiping at your swollen clit.

And so, he finally gave in and began fucking up into his fist—his hips intensely chasing his hand—at the ferocity at which he dreamed to ram inside you, dragging against your velvety walls and feeling as you shivered uncontrollably around him.

He was close, too. Very fucking close.

“Come for me, sweet thing. C’mon. Be a good … fuck, be a good slut for me and come around that cock.” Joel breathed, eyes glued to the display of you feverishly riding the toy.

Then, suddenly, your mouth opened in a long scream as you nearly went cross-eyed.

Shortly after, your face scrunched up in pleasure and your body fell still on the dildo, the only movements being small rolls of your hips against the rubber length as your breathing began to even.

You came.

Fucking finally.

Joel shut his eyes and pictured driving into your throbbing, dripping cunt, hearing your pitchy whines as he shushed you with little follow-through.

Gonna come inside, he’d tell you in between heavy, strained breaths. To which, you’d frantically alert him of the fact that you weren’t on the pill and the two of you had chosen to forgo the assistance of a condom.

But Joel’d come inside you anyway. Mark up his pretty girl with pearly ropes of his come. And he’d keep you filled up as long as he fucking could.

Before he knew it, Joel was coming hard and fast into his fist, wildly jerking in and out of his grip as he rode out his high.

It took a few more moments for him to slow down, and a good number more for him to stop fully.

“Fucking hell,” Joel sighed as he took a seat on the edge of his bed, reaching over to a nearby table and plucking a few pieces of tissue out of its box to clean himself up with.

Satisfied, he crumpled up the tissues, tossed them into a nearby trashcan and gently tucked himself back in.

His head hung low as he caught his breath and tried not to linger on the dubious ethics of what had just transpired.

While that had possibly been the best jerk in his life, it was undoubtedly very non-consensual. At least, on your side.

After all, you hadn’t explicitly given him permission to fuck his fist to the sight of you doing… whatever fucking marathon that was.

At least, he didn’t think you did.

Until, bing!

Joel angled his head to catch sight of his phone lighting up with a recent notification.

Unsure of who could be texting him at that hour, Joel took it in his hands and unlocked it with a quick swipe of his passcode.

It was a message from you.

You: you gonna keep jerking off across the street or are you gonna come over?

Joel’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.

So, you had seen him. Possibly even orchestrated the whole ordeal; neglecting to close your blinds on purpose, wearing that bra, and, well, fucking yourself right by your window.

Shit. Well, he couldn’t just come over and fuck you silly … could he?

Then, another text came.

You: home alone.

Joel never put on his shoes faster.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #pedrohub #joel miller #smut #the last of us #freaky

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slttygeto · 7 months ago

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༉‧₊˚. "Shut up, mom!" prank with JJK men PART 2

➜ featuring: higuruma hiromi, ryomen sukuna and fushiguro toji

➜synopsis: your child(ren) has a death wish for sure.

➜note: sorry for the long wait! it's here at last :)

༉‧₊˚. reblog + comment!

༉‧₊˚. HIGURUMA HIROMI

Your husband was a busy man. You and your daughter could count the days he spent at home with the two of you–lazily snuggling his two favorite girls on the couch as you rewatch your favorite family movie (he claims that Encanto isn’t his favorite but he has memorized all the songs). So what better way to spice up the day than by pranking your favorite man?

“Sweetie, what did I say about tissues on the kitchen counter?”

“Huh?” your daughter’s annoyed tone makes Higuruma look up from his phone with a quirked eyebrow. “Oh yeah, whatever I just forgot.”

“I said it many times before. I don’t like tissues on the kitchen counter.”

“Oh would you just drop it?” your daughter sighs, annoyed. She gets up from the dining table and makes her way around the couch, walking past her dad. “You’re always making a big deal out of shit like that.”

“Huh-”

“Hey? Don’t use that kind of language with me–”

“Just shut up already!”

In the blink of an eye, Higuruma’s phone dropped from his hand and he stood up from the couch, nostrils flared and body seething with anger.

“What did you just say?”

“Dad-”

“Did you just tell your mother to shut up?” You feel bad for making your daughter witness this side of her dad, but she’s quick to give her nervous giggle with her hands up to her chest.

“Dad, it’s a prank! I promise!”

“Honey, it’s a prank.” It’s comedic the way his eyes go from almost bulging out of his skull, to deflating like a balloon. He heaves out a sigh he doesn’t know he was holding and drops his head.

“What part of this prank seemed funny to either of you?”

“Mom said she liked it when you were protective of her–”

“Why are you exposing your mother like that!”

“You made me the target of his anger!”

༉‧₊˚. RYOMEN SUKUNA

“Where are the brats?” Sukuna’s voice is flat as he walks into the kitchen. Dinner was served, and yet his twin boys were nowhere to be seen. “Still upstairs?”

“Yeah, I called for them earlier but they don’t want to get off that damn console.” You sigh in defeat, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’ll try again, wait.”

Sukuna lets you handle this by yourself and takes a seat by the dining table. He watches intently as you make your way upstairs and then a minute later, a fight ensues. Loud voices and the sound of doors slamming can be heard, which makes your husband’s eye twitch.

“I told you to take out the trash and you said no! I tell you dinner is ready and you say leave me alone?” you continue to complain as you walk down the stairs, your tall teenage boys right behind you, sporting the same scowl as their dad’s.

“Why are you being overdramatic? I told you I’ll do it later!”

“I want you to do it now, the kitchen reeks!”

“That’s a you problem, woman.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Would you just let it go? Just shut u–!”

Your twin boy doesn’t get to finish his sentence before your husband is pushing his chair back, aura as dangerous as ever. You’ve seen Sukuna angry before, you’ve seen him in all of his states but this one was by far the scariest.

“Brat.”

Sukuna doesn’t let his son finish his sentence before he takes off his wedding ring and places it on the dining table. “Let’s go outside. You and I.”

“Wha–”

“You eat dinner without us and you–” he points at the troublesome one of the pair. “Will get to eat if you beat me.”

“But dad–”

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.”

“Babe,” you step between your fuming husband and his son, hands caressing his chest. “Calm down, it’s fine–”

“Get out of the way, woman.” he says with a snarl, but you can feel his body relax under your touch.

“But it was just a prank.”

“A prank?” Now you’re scared for your life. “Who told you that shit is funny? You like being disrespected?”

“No, but I like seeing you angry,”

“Oh I’ll show you what I can do when I’m angry.”

“We are quite literally right here.”

“Then leave.”

“Babe!”

༉‧₊˚. FUSHIGURO TOJI

“Megumi, do you want some?” You’re in the car on your way back from a party that one of your friends has thrown for her toddler when you turn to your own kid with some cake. “It’s your favorite.”

“No.”

“No?” Toji notices your frown and his son’s unusual attitude towards you but says nothing, eyes fixated on the road. “Well okay,”

You heave out a sigh, biting back a smile as you look out the window. Toji locks eyes with his own through the rearview mirror and the child looks away almost immediately. What’s up with his attitude today?

The moment you walk into the house, you’re taking off Megumi’s shoes who’s still doing a pretty good job at pretending to be having an attitude and he makes his way to the kitchen where he grabs the box of cookies which he knows he’s not allowed near.

“Gumi, no.”

“I want one.”

“After dinner, okay?” the six year old boy huffs and puffs and when you take the box away from him, he pretends to throw a fit as he starts to make his way upstairs.

“Go to the bathroom, I gotta give you a bath before eating.”

“Shut up!” You don’t know where Toji was, you don’t feel him behind you until you see him storm towards the stairs. All you hear is loud thuds on the wooden floor and your heart is in your throat.

“Fucking brat,” he mumbles under his breath. “What the fuck did you just tell your mom?”

“Toji–”

“She wanted to prank you.” Megumi confesses almost immediately, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “She told me that you look ‘hot’ when you’re mad so she wanted to test something.”

You stand there, dumbfounded and flustered at how fast your kid exposed you. Suddenly, you feel small as you feel Toji turn around and stare down at you with his dark eyes.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. She also said that she will call uncle Satoru to come take me after–”

“Megumi!”

COMMISSIONS

2024 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

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ryoflix · 21 days ago

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sukuna as that dad who buys a whole stock of things just because his kids mentioned in passing that they like it | f. reader, s/h prns., crack 'n fluff, estb. rl ؛ ଓ

the supermarket trip starts off normal — which, in sukuna terms, means a near military operation. he’s pushing the cart with one hand, the other cradling your son like a sack of potatoes while your daughter sits daintily on the cart’s front like a tiny queen surveying her kingdom.

you’re busy comparing cereal labels when the twins spot it.

that thing. some brightly colored, sugar-loaded, probably-no-real-fruit gummy snack hanging near the checkout aisle, designed purely to ambush tired parents and gullible children. your son immediately points. “daddy, look. worms. but with rainbow.” your daughter clasps her hands like she’s about to faint. “it’s sparkly. it’s calling to me.”

sukuna doesn’t even flinch. “keep walking.”

“but—”

“walk.”

“but it’s glowing—”

“it’s plastic,” he barks, wheeling them past the stand like a man dragging his family from the jaws of death. “you think that’s food? that’s chemicals. sugar and glue. probably made in a damn basement.”

the twins pout, your son slumping dramatically across the cart handle, your daughter sighing like she’s just been banished from joy itself. they grumble a little. for about twenty seconds. then they see the bakery section and instantly forget, distracted by the smell of butter and warm bread.

but sukuna... does not forget.

he’s unusually quiet all through checkout. eyes twitching just once toward that stand. you’re too busy unloading the cart to notice, but there’s a new tightness in his jaw. by the time you're all home, he’s already making excuses.

“forgot somethin’,” he mutters, shoving his feet back into his shoes like he's off to duel the void.

you glance up. “what could you possibly—”

but he’s gone.

cut to fifteen minutes later. the front door swings open with enough force to shake the floor. sukuna’s standing there, arms overflowing with about eleven packs of those same rainbow gummy worms, a few extra bags hanging from his fingers, one clenched between his teeth for good measure. “got the damn things,” he grunts triumphantly, hauling them in like contraband.

you raise a brow. “i thought they were sugar glue made in a basement.”

he drops them all on the table. “they are. but they’re happy-shaped sugar glue. and what if you liked them? huh? what if their friends came over and wanted one? you want my kids looking poor in front of guests?”

you glance at the twins, still in the living room, now playing a quiet game of “guess that cloud shape” by the window.

“guys,” you call, “your dad brought you something.”

they both scamper over, faces lighting up as they peek at the stash.

your daughter tilts her head. “...what’s this?”

“the worms,” sukuna says, expectant.

your son scratches his cheek. “...what worms?”

sukuna blinks. “the ones you saw earlier. the rainbow ones. with sparkles.”

your daughter frowns. “we did?”

“you begged for them!”

they look at each other. your son shrugs. your daughter shakes her head. “don’t remember.”

sukuna stares. you’re trying not to laugh.

“you little—i just raided a store for this!”

your daughter picks one up delicately, sniffs it. “can we eat it now?”

“obviously.”

your son tears his open and starts chomping with glee. “it tastes like glue!”

sukuna huffs, collapsing into a chair. “if i ever give you children a kidney, you better remember it.”

your daughter offers him a worm. he takes it without looking at her. you pat his shoulder, grinning. “they won’t remember. but i will.”

he snorts. “good. someone needs to witness my suffering.”

then he promptly steals a gummy. because glue or not, it does taste kinda good.

#⌗ episodes #dad! sukuna #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk crack #jujutsu kaisen crack #sukuna crack #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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yanderedrabbles · 4 months ago

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The North Wind & His Bride

The North Wind was the coldest and cruelest of winds. So when a man came to your father's door claiming to be him and asking for your hand, your father was quick to turn him away.

"My daughter is too bright and too kind to be wasted on the worst of the winds. Come back once you learn to carry spring on your breath instead of snow."

And all that night the wind whispered down your chimney. You dreamt strange dreams - of the colours found only at the edge of the world, of snow flurries and seas black as night.

The man returned the next day. And your father once again refused him. "Come back when you can grant succor to the poor and the pitiful and not freeze them where they sleep."

That night, the wind keened even higher and rattled the window shutters. You dreamt of a wedding dress with frost for lace and a ring the gold of sunrise on snow. When you woke, your ring finger was cold as ice.

The man did not come again that day and you huddled close to the fire, rubbing warmth back into your bones. Your father paced his study and tried to scheme a way of avoiding the wind.

That night, the air laid still as in a coffin and you slept the black sleep of the drowned. You woke in time to see the first snow of the year, two months too early.

Your father's crops froze in the ground or rotted with the thaw. He paced his study and tried to scheme a way of avoiding the creditors.

When next your suitor came, your father's good manners had been worn down by debt collectors and bank notes. He snapped at the wind like a thing cornered. "Come back when you can guide ships safe to port and not wreck them on icy shores."

That night, a blizzard blew in from the north and any creature not crouched by the fire or huddled indoors was found frozen solid. You dreamt again, of a man with cold hands and even colder eyes who danced with you under foreign stars.

Your suitor did not come again but terrible news did. Your brother's ship was wrecked by a storm high on the winter coast. All souls were lost.

Through your grief, a terrible anger began to grow.

When next your suitor came, you greeted him at the door. He had a face as finely chiseled as an ice sculpture and eyes the deep black of the hinterland sea.

"If you would have me as your bride, then I will have a dowry from you."

He took your hand in his and his touch chilled you worse than a corpse's would. He looked at you with a hunger born out of winter and scarcity and cold.

"Anything. Ask anything of me and you can have it."

All through your brother's funeral you thought of ways to avenge him. And now you asked the North Wind for the one thing you thought he could never obtain.

"In a kingdom far south of here, where the snow never falls and the winter never comes, there is a jewel carved from the sun God's bones. Bring me that as a wedding band and I will be your bride."

You thought he would flinch or ask you to reconsider. Instead he bowed and kissed your hand and said he would soon return.

You felt your hope slipping, but he did not return the next day. Or the day after that. The end of autumn came without snow or gales or the return of your suitor. Slowly, you began to breathe again. Began to heal from your brother's death. Began to dream of summer and love and fresh fruit bursting between your teeth.

The winter equinox dawned with clear skies. There was to be feasting that night, and dancing. You dressed your hair with silver chains and sweetened your lips with winter berries. When the music started, one young man after another swept you into his arms and spun you around the bonfire. You tilted your head back and laughed and flirted and forgot all about your suitor.

Near midnight, the wind started to blow. The fire hissed as snowflakes drifted down from suddenly cloudy skies. Your dance partner caught one on his glove and offered it to you. Daring and high on the thrill of dancing, you licked it off his finger. "Tastes of winter in storm," you teased and when he took you for another dance, you wondered if you'd caught yourself a husband.

He spun you around but the arms that caught you were icy cold even through the fine velvet of the wearer's suit.

Midnight tolled and you looked up into the eyes of the North Wind.

He pulled your hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against your skin. At his touch, even the bonfire at your back seemed to lose its warmth.

"The journey south was wrecked with danger and the sun almost melted me clean away, but I have brought your dowry."

Before you could pull away, he slipped a ring onto your finger. It was the gold of fire and sunset and desert sand, and it's warmth spread through you.

The snow turned into a blizzard but you didn't notice it. The wind outside the safety of his arms was sharp as stinging nettles and the townsfolk called to each other in panic, barely able to keep their torches from blowing out.

The North Wind kissed your cheek, eyes glimmering with triumph.

"You're mine now. My spring bride, my dearest love."

All your dreams of a sweet summer love melted. When the snow finally settled, you were no longer in the town square but in a throne room at the edge of the world. Green and blue lights danced in the sky and shone through the palace ceiling, bathed your new husband in all the colours of his kingdom.

He leaned forward and claimed his first kiss.

When you pulled away and tried to step out of his embrace, he tightened his grip and his smile both.

"You are my wife now," he explained in a voice as comforting as frostbite, "And a wife cannot refuse her husband's love."

Your sun ring was the only spot of warmth on your body and you clung desperately to the anchor it offered.

"I would not refuse you, husband of mine. But I am the daughter and the sister of common men and there are traditions to uphold before I can climb into your wedding bed."

"What more must I do to have you?"

What would he be unable to do, here at the end of the world?

"Build me a fire that burns all day and all night on one stick of wood and you can have me as promised."

"These are strange traditions you have, wife of mine. But I have come this far to have you, and I will go further yet."

He left you with a flurry of snow and the hissing shriek of a gale. When he was gone, you paced the throne room from one end to the other and could not find a door. Everything about the room was as stark and cold as he.

Exhausted and chilled, you sat at the foot of his throne. What terrible thing did you do to earn the love of the North Wind? You wiped away your tears and then jumped at the hissing sound they made when they touched your ring. Like water spilled on coals.

"You've melted his heart," your ring hissed. "And he cannot afford to let you go."

You stared at your hand. Eventually you found your voice and the strength to ask, "How do I escape him?"

"Trick him. His heart holds all his power. If you have it, you can ride the wind far from here. He was once a man and still might be tempted into a deal."

The ring was silent after that and you waited for your husband's return with bated breath. It was dawn when he came to you, a branch slung over his shoulder. It was of a dry, white wood that you didn't recognise.

There were no fireplaces in the North Wind's palace and so he laid the branch at your feet before he lit it. It caught with a harsh crackle and fire spread across it in a greenish haze. You stretched your fingers out to feel the heat and even the meagre warmth of it was a comfort.

But that comfort turned to a slow dawning horror when you realised the branch wasn't turning to ash. The fire ate at it but the wood refused to darken.

"It's a branch from Death's own orchard," your husband said proudly. "It can burn for eternity and never go out."

"Well done," you said, even though your lips were numb from panic. "But we must watch it burn for the full day and night or else our marriage cannot be consummated."

He sat down beside you and curled his arm around your waist. "It is an easy task to watch this fire, wife of mine. When I grow tired, I need only think of the reward that awaits me."

For a whole day and night, the North Wind held you his arms and watched the fire burn. When Dawn's light touched his palace again, he kissed your shoulder and then your neck and then your lips. He sighed with a deep contentment.

"At last I will have you."

With each kiss, you felt yourself grow colder. With each caress, the binding ties of marriage grew tighter. All night you thought of a trade to offer him and now you said it aloud.

"Husband of mine, I will come willingly to your bed and serve willingly as your wife. But I would ask you first for a boon."

"Ask, wife of mine. If it is mine to grant, then I shall grant it."

You slipped off his lap and turned to look at him.

"I would have your heart."

The North Wind sighed and miles away, a gale began to form. "You already have it."

"So have said countless suitors over countless years to countless girls. And still they were unfaithful, unkind. If your love ever turns away from me, I will be stuck here at the end of world with naught but sea bears and ice hounds to comfort me."

The North Wind sat on his throne and regarded you with eyes old as the mountains. In his own hall, in his own country, he did not seem like a man who could easily be tricked. Still, you tried. You let your hands drift across his cheeks and up his thighs, let his skin bask in the warmth of your touch.

"Grant me this, husband. And I will be yours for eternity."

Was it lust or love that made him hand you a knife and bid you cut out his heart? He guided your hand to the tender spot between his ribs and the bare skin of his chest almost made your reconsider.

The blade was carved out of whalebone and moonlight and he was bleeding before you even pressed down. You thought of your brother, drowned in the ice so far from home and found the strength to slice into him.

The blood that welled up from his chest was thick and black as oil. Where it touched your skin, hoatfrost bloomed.

He didn't seem to feel any pain - he only pulled you higher up his lap and watched the guilt and horror flicker across your face.

When the cut was deep enough, you pushed your hand into his chest and felt for his heart. His organs were colder even than his skin and it felt like you'd sunk your hands into snow.

The beating of his heart mirrored yours and when you finally grabbed it, the thrumming of his blood sounded just like your own.

You held the North Wind's heart in your hand and pulled it from his chest.

All at once, in all the countless winter kingdoms, the wind stopped howling and the snow grew still.

His heart was the size of your palm and oozed icy blood over your fingers. It was so cold that at first you didn't realise the numbness in your hand was spreading. It crawled up your arm like a burning frost and locked your bones in place.

You couldn't drop his heart even if you tried.

The North Wind looked at you with an indulgent, amused smile. And when the ice reached your heart he leaned up and kissed you.

He kissed you and for once his lips felt warm, felt human. Dimly, you realised it wasn't him who was getting warmer, it was you who was freezing over. Becoming a thing of ice and hunger as he was.

"Now you need never fear I will abandon you." The North Wind ran his hands up your sides and warmth bloomed in his wake.

"Now you can control the wind as I do and ride it to the furthest reaches of the world. You can swim with the sea bears and dance with the witches."

You looked down and realised his heart was almost gone, melted into your bones and blood.

He kissed you again. "My love, you are as free as the wind."

It wasn't until then that you realised the cost of freedom. The cost of having the North Wind's heart. And when he drew you up in his arms and lead you to your wedding bed, you were too cold to turn him away.

#Yandere Fairytales #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere oc x you #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere male #fem reader #Reader insert #X Reader #Fables #Folk tales #Tales from the hinterland #fairy tales

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ari-ana-bel-la · 1 month ago

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could you do alex albon’s 4 year old daughter getting lost in the paddock and having everyone panicking trying to find her?

Little Explorer

The Suzuka sun was already peeking over the horizon when Alex arrived at the paddock, his hand securely holding that of his four-year-old daughter, Yn. Her little pink cap was nearly too big for her head, threatening to slip down over her eyes every time she looked up at her dad. She wore a tiny Williams team shirt, complete with her name embroidered above the heart, and her backpack bounced with every excited step she took.

"Papa, is this where the race cars sleep?" Yn asked, eyes wide as she gazed around the bustling paddock.

Alex chuckled, crouching down to her level. "Not exactly, sweet pea. But it's where they get ready. Like a pit stop bedroom."

She giggled. “Do they have pillows?”

“If they do, they probably smell like engine oil.”

Yn made a face, scrunching her little nose, and Alex laughed. He stood up just in time to see Carlos approach them from across the garage.

"Good morning!" Carlos greeted with a big smile. He bent down slightly, holding out a fist for Yn, who bumped it without hesitation.

"Hola, Carlitos!" she chirped, her eyes sparkling.

"Already using the nickname, huh?" Alex grinned.

"She’s got good taste," Carlos teased. "How are you, princesa?"

“I saw a big tire! It was taller than me!” Yn said, stretching her arms to demonstrate the size.

Carlos gasped dramatically. “Wow! Did you try to lift it?”

“I did! But it was super heavy.”

“Well, we’ll work on your muscles later, okay?” Carlos winked at her, and Yn nodded very seriously.

Alex watched the exchange with a soft smile. It always warmed him how easily Carlos got along with his daughter. Though they kept Yn out of the spotlight, she had a way of making herself at home wherever she went.

"Hey," Carlos said quietly to Alex, "we have that strategy meeting in ten minutes."

Alex sighed. "Right. I almost forgot."

Carlos gestured toward a young Williams intern who was standing nearby. "She’ll be in good hands. We’ll be back before she can finish her juice box."

"Okay, sweetie," Alex crouched down to talk to Yn, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I need to go talk about grown-up stuff with Uncle Carlos. Can you be a good girl and hang out here with Miss Sophie for a little bit?"

Yn nodded solemnly. “I’ll be the best girl.”

“That’s my girl.” He kissed her forehead before standing up, exchanging one last glance with the intern. “Thank you. We'll be quick.”

With that, he and Carlos disappeared into the meeting room, leaving Sophie to keep an eye on Yn, who had now sat on a small bench, swinging her legs and sipping from her juice pouch.

But it only took a moment.

One glance away to check a message on her phone.

And when Sophie looked up again—Yn was gone.

Yn wandered along the paddock path, her eyes filled with wonder at the noise, the smells, the shimmer of the mechanics' uniforms and the laughter echoing from various corners. She clutched her little cap in one hand as she meandered away, drawn by the colorful banners and a sudden patch of green at the far end.

Flowers.

Tucked beside a hospitality suite, a narrow planter overflowed with bright blossoms—petunias, daisies, and tiny pink and white buds.

Yn gasped. “Whoa!”

She skipped over and crouched next to the flowers, reaching out to gently touch a petal. She giggled as a bee buzzed past her, and that’s when she noticed a man watering the plants.

Fernando.

He was pouring water over the soil with a plastic jug, humming to himself. He blinked when he noticed the tiny figure crouched beside him.

“Well, hello there,” he said in surprise, straightening up. “Where did you come from?”

Yn smiled up at him, not afraid at all. “Hi! I like flowers.”

“Do you?” he smiled warmly, crouching beside her. “These are petunias. They’re thirsty today.”

“I like that one!” she pointed to a pink one. “It looks like my blanket at home.”

“That’s a very good choice. Petunias are very friendly flowers.”

Yn tilted her head. “Do flowers talk?”

Fernando chuckled. “Only if you listen really carefully.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do they say?”

“They say, ‘thank you for the water, kind girl!’”

Yn burst into a giggle fit. “That’s silly!”

He smiled. “Not as silly as finding a flower princess all alone in the paddock. Where’s your papa?”

“My papa is with Carlitos. He’s talking about grown-up stuff.”

Fernando’s brow furrowed slightly. “And what’s your papa’s name?”

“Alex!”

That made Fernando’s eyes widen. “You’re Alex’s little girl?”

“Uh-huh! And George is my goddaddy.”

Fernando let out a low whistle. “You’re F1 royalty then. Come on, let’s get you back to your garage before everyone starts looking under the race cars for you.”

She reached for his hand, trusting and joyful. “Okay! But can we say bye to the flowers?”

He smiled softly. “Of course.”

Back in the Williams garage, chaos was brewing.

“She’s not here?” Alex’s voice cracked, already halfway through panic. “How is she not here?!”

Sophie looked like she was about to cry. “I—I just looked away for a second—I swear—”

Carlos rubbed a hand down his face. “She couldn’t have gone far. Let’s split up.”

George had already heard the commotion and appeared at Alex’s side. “You lost Yn?” he asked, voice tight with concern.

Alex could barely breathe. “I should’ve never left her. What was I thinking?”

“Alex,” George said firmly. “We’ll find her. Let’s go.”

Within minutes, it felt like the whole paddock was mobilized. Charles jogged off toward the hospitality area, Max checked around the back of the garages, even media members paused to ask what was happening. Word spread fast when it came to the drivers' kids.

Then—Alex heard a familiar laugh.

His head snapped toward the far end of the paddock, where a small figure in a Williams shirt was skipping along beside Fernando.

“Yn!” he called out, his voice trembling.

She looked up and grinned. “PAPA!”

Alex ran to her, scooping her into his arms and holding her close, her tiny arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

“I was so scared,” he whispered into her hair. “Don’t ever wander off like that again, baby. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I just wanted to see the flowers.”

He pulled back enough to kiss her cheeks, again and again. “You scared me to death.”

“She was perfectly fine,” Fernando said gently. “We were talking about petals and bees.”

Alex looked at him with teary eyes. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Fernando raised his hands. “She’s a lovely little girl. Very brave. Very curious. Just like someone I know.”

Alex turned to Yn. “From now on, flowers only when I’m with you, okay?”

“Okay, Papa,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder. “But can I say bye to Fernandito next time too?”

Fernando laughed. “Any time, little flower princess.”

Alex held her tight, grateful beyond words as the panic finally ebbed from his chest.

And for the rest of the weekend, Yn stayed by her papa’s side—though she did convince him to visit the flower patch together before they left Suzuka.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

Also, thank you for 1K followers. You guys are the best. 🥰😘

-🩷🎀

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mercvry-glow · 1 month ago

Text

Best of wives

parings. frank langdon x robinavitch!reader

summary. frank langdon loves his wife dearly, but family is hard when hard when her older brother is your boss.

warnings. typical pitt stuff, hospital setting, frank and reader are roughly mid to early 30s, reader is robby's younger sister (not specified on blood or adoptive, with an age -gap of 15 or so years), reader is pregnant, eating, other pitt characters, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. little bit of family light drama for the masses, and I'm love love loving all of the stuff we're talking about on here! I absolutely love this concept, and would 100% take more ideas like it for sister/daughter!reader. I hope you enjoy and as always feedback is appreciated in any form!

wc. 1400+

Frank Langdon was the golden boy of modern medicine.

At least that’s what he had tried to convince you when you first started dating.

You were a kindergarten teacher at the time, so nothing as flashy as a trauma resident at PTMC, but just as important. You just didn’t want that life—not after seeing what it had done to your brother, and certainly not after meeting Frank.

He was magnetic in that way doctors sometimes were—confident, razor-sharp, and just the right amount of reckless. The kind of man who could charm a crowded room and then disappear into an on-call room for eighteen hours if needed without blinking.

You told yourself you wouldn’t date a doctor. You told yourself you weren’t interested in that.

You told yourself a lot of things.

But Frank had a way of making you feel like the center of the world, his world.

And that was dangerous.

You tried to set boundaries. “Work stays at work,” you told him once. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me. It’s what I’m here for,”

He had just laughed, flashing a smile, “Good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on keeping secrets.”

You wish you hadn’t smiled back.

Because five years later, here you were. Five months pregnant and walking into the emergency room with food in hand for all your favorite people—and your older brother too, who still acted like you were ten years old.

You navigated the Pitt like you owned the place, a regular of this particular establishment, bag of takeout swaying in one hand and the other resting on the gentle curve of your stomach. You weren’t showing too much yet, but just enough to get a few raised brows from the nursing staff.

You offered a knowing smile in return.

At the desk, Dana smirked when she spotted you. “Look what the cafeteria couldn’t cook up,” the blonde teased.

“I brought fries,” you said with a smile. “So you better be nice or I’ll tell the baby.”

Dana laughed and plucked a soda from the bag like it had her name on it. “See? And they said teachers don’t want their own kids pfft.”

Frank was near the trauma board, mid-conversation with someone, but his attention shifted the second he saw you. His whole expression changed—softer, brighter, like he forgot he was running on three hours of sleep.

Jack had noticed too, of course. He gave you that signature Dr. Abbot once-over, arms crossed, brows raised in disapproval even though he was already moving to take the bag from you.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around here,” he said gruffly.

You smiled, entirely unbothered. “I’m not wandering, I’m delivering. I brought you all lunch.”

And just as you handed him his sandwich, a familiar voice joined the mix.

“Let me guess… she promised she’d just drop it off and go home, right?”

You turned to find Mikey, approaching with a shake of his head and a warm, if slightly exasperated, smile.

“I did,” you said, holding your hand up in mock surrender. “Scout’s honor.”

Robby looked you over with practiced eyes, always the doctor even when he was in big-brother mode. “You look good,” he said, stepping in to kiss the side of your head. “But next time, let one of these guys bring the food. You don’t have to run around for everyone on a Saturday.”

“I wanted to,” you said softly. “I like seeing you all. And the baby wanted fries.”

Robby a light chuckle. “Can’t argue with the baby, I guess.” He gave your arm a light pat, then turned to Frank. “You’re making sure she’s taking breaks, right?”

“Absolutely,” Frank replied, slinging an arm around you. He always wanted Robby to know he was taking care of you. Not only did you mean the world to him, but you were his mentor’s little sister. (Not that he knew when he met you.)

Jack, having stayed close, muttered, “She’s got you all wrapped around her finger.”

“Jealous?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Terrified,” he deadpanned.

The three of them exchanged looks—your husband, your brother, and the grump who’d somehow also become family.

Before anyone could argue about who was more wrapped around whose finger, the overhead speaker crackled to life.

“Team to trauma-one. ETA two minutes. MVC, multiple victims.”

The shift in the room was immediate. The laid-back laughter evaporated into focus, movements sharpening with purpose. Dana tossed the soda into the trash like she’d never opened it. Jack was already pivoting, snatching a pair of gloves from the supply drawer, and Robby stood up straighter beside you, brotherly instinct kicking in.

Frank was the only one who paused, even for just a second. His hand lingered at your lower back, thumb tracing a circle through the fabric of your top.

You looked up at him and gave him a soft nudge. “Go.”

He hesitated. “You sure?”

“I’ll hang with Robby. Maybe even get him to eat something green.”

That earned you a quick grin—tired, but genuine as always. He leaned down and kissed your temple, then, because he never could help himself, his hand rested gently on your stomach. “Be good for mom, alright?” he murmured, before looking up at you again. “Text me if anything feels off.”

“I’m pregnant, not fragile,” you reminded him, smiling as you gently swatted his arm.

“Yeah, well. Humor me,” he said, backing away even as Jack called his name. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Then he was gone, disappearing into the chaos with the rest of the team. Jack, tough as ever, barked something to an incoming resident and tossed Frank a gown mid-stride. It landed squarely in his chest, and he caught it without looking.

Routine. Precision. Showtime.

You turned back to the nurses station, watching it all unfold with that strange mix of pride and nerves that always bubbled in your chest when Frank was in the thick of it. You’d learned long ago that this was part of the deal—his heart belonged to you, but his hands, his mind (on occasion), and his adrenaline?

They belonged to this place.

Robby stayed back a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Protective older brother mode was a hard one for him to turn off.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, eyes flicking down to your bump, then back to your face.

You nodded. “I’m fine. Just hungry. And I’m not leaving until someone eats this food I risked my ankles to bring in.”

He chuckled. “You’re still stubborn.”

“Runs in the family,” you said sweetly, sliding the bag toward him.

With a sigh, Robby sat beside you and pulled out one of the sandwiches. “You know,” he said, unwrapping it slowly, “when you first told me you were seeing someone, I never imagined it would be Frank.”

“Why?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because I thought you had more sense,” he deadpanned, then smirked when you kicked his foot lightly under the desk.

You both sat quietly for a beat, watching the monitors light up as the trauma alert clock ticked down. Through the windows, you caught glimpses of Frank and Jack suited up, already fielding a barrage of vitals and questions as the paramedics wheeled someone in.

Robby followed your gaze. “He’s good. One of the best I’ve seen at this stage.”

“I know,” you said softly. “That’s why I fell for him.”

He glanced sideways at you. “You think it’s ever gonna get easier? Having another person on the inside of all this?”

You rested a hand over your belly. “I don’t know. Maybe not. But I think loving someone like Frank… like you… it’s worth the hard parts. He always comes back to me anyway.”

Robby nodded slowly. “He better keep doing that.”

Just then, the intercom squawked again—someone calling for extra hands in trauma-one. You and Robby exchanged a look before he stood with a resigned sigh, abandoning his half-eaten sandwich.

“Go,” you told him. “I’ll guard the fries with my life.”

“You better,” he said, ruffling your hair as he passed.

You stayed there, perched at the edge of the chaos, watching the people you loved disappear into the fray one by one. And in the middle of it all, you could hear Frank’s voice—calm, confident, commanding. He didn’t raise it often, but when he did, people listened.

Just like Mikey.

You listened too, always had. Because no matter how far into the fire they ran, they always looked for you when on the back.

And you'd always be waiting, with food in hand and that steady calm only you seemed able to carry into a place like this.

mercvry-glow 2025

#the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt hbo #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #frank langdon #frank langdon x reader #frank langdon x you #dr. frank langdon #dr. frank langdon x reader #dr. frank langdon x you #michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch x you #dr. michael robinavitch #dr. michael robinavitch x reader #dr. michael robinavitch x you #❥ - Frank Langdon #❥ - Michael Robinavitch

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